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MARJORIE MOXIE 

HER EXPERIENCES 


BY 

MAUD MORRISON HUEY 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

RUTH MARY HALLOCK 


RAND McNALLY & COMPANY 
CHICAGO NEW YORK LONDON 
1910 




Copyright, iqio, by 
Rand, McNally & Company 



©Cl, A 273321 


MARJORIE MOXIE 

HER EXPERIENCES 

CHAPTER I 

SETTLING OLD SCORES 

“It’s such a comfort to be happy, and so useless being miserable.” 

Marjorie sat on the back porch hulling strawberries. 
Her face and hands were smeared with the crimson 
juice. She finished a final handful and crowded it 
on top of the quart measure. 

“There! That’s heaped and running over. Let me 
see! Where am I! Oh, yes! ‘July 4. — Dick and I 
followed the circus parade. There were three ele- 
phants and two tiny cub bears in a cage. We patted 
the Shetland ponies. — ’ I can afford to do a quart for 
that. My! We had a time. We never got back to 
dinner.” She emptied the generous measure into 
Mother Moxie’s granite dishpan. With one hand she 
turned a page of the soiled diary that lay on a chair 
beside her. 

“'July 21. — ’ That’s next. Let’s see what hap- 
pened then! ‘ — Left Jane’s sunbonnet on the bank 
while Dick and I were wading, and Duffy’s old hog 

1 


2 


MARJORIE M0X1E 


ate it up.’ I don’t care, it was an old one. She need 
not have made such a fuss.” Marjorie began to hull 
again desperately. “ — Eight whole gills for some- 
thing I wasn’t to blame for. How could I tell that 
Duffy’s hog was such an old cannibal ? And anyhow 
she wouldn’t have eaten it if Jane hadn’t put sugar 
in the starch; so in the long run you’re to blame, 
Missy, though you sit in there so fine eating stuffed 
dates while I hull strawberries for the old thing.” 

Marjorie consoled her tortured appetite with a 
plump and luscious berry. “Let’s see! What else 
have I got to do penance for ! It’ll be some consolation 
to know.” She set the pan on the step and wiped her 
hands on her apron. Leaning back with her head in 
the ivy vines, she read. 

“‘Aug. i. — Hid away from mother when she 
wanted me to pare apples for pies/ I mean to skimp 
that quart, for I couldn’t have any of the pie. Dick 
never saved me a smell of his. Stingv thing ! I don’t 
care, I got even. I found his gum on the window sill 
and rolled it in sand. Mother said we wasn’t to keep 
our gum on the window sill anyhow. It served him 
right. 

Aug- 3 1 - Lost mother’s screw-driver down in 
the mill yaid where Dick and I were gathering pitch. 
It fell m a hole in the old pine stump and I couldn’t 
get it out. We boiled the pitch in an old tomato can 
and made pitch gum.’ 


SETTLING OLD SCORES 


3 


“ 'Sept. 6. — Had a fight with Mamie Anderson 
over my seat/ — Tore I'd try to crowd somebody 
out of a seat that had been theirs since Adam ! 
I've been No. 23 ever since I went to Central. Oh, 
well, a quart of strawberries isn't anything to the 
satisfaction I got out of that! There are certain 
principles that ought to be defended, and I think I 
can see where meekness ceases to be a virtue. 

“ 'Sept. 16. — Wore Jane's blue beads to school and 
lost them.' 

" 'Sept. 29. — After school Dick and I went to see 
Benny Williams' pet coon and didn't get home till 
dark! I gave him the crusts out of my dinner pail. 
You ought to have seen him put them in the water and 
then skin up a tree and stretch out as easy as you 
please while they soaked !' I couldn't blame him. They 
were tough old things. Some of Jane's experiments. 
I pity her man if she ever gets one. 

" 'Oct. 3. — Fought four boys who were picking on 
little Lummy Beezler and got the sleeve torn out of 
my new plaid dress; also lost one of my good hair 
ribbons.' I suppose I am a great trial to mother. 

" 'Oct. 17. — Skipped school at recess to carry Annie 
Murry's kitten home.' It cried and clawed terribly 
and it was most a mile; but I am glad I did for it is 
a terrible thing to be a stray kitten and at the mercy 
of boys. Most boys are brutes, though Dick isn't. 

" 'Oct. 31. — Cooned pumpkins of old Merriweather 


4 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


to make Jack-o’-lanterns, and took mother’s pink wax 
candle to put in the Goliath.’ I never can see that 
cooning and stealing are the same, especially when 
the pumpkins are rotten, but mother says it is. Old 
Merriweather is too stingy to live, anyhow. Oh, 
yes, and we put tick-tacks on poor Mrs. Gilbert’s 
windows and brought on her ague. ‘ — And Dick and 
I carried Jane’s crazy quilt up on the barn and made 
it into a flag.’ — A very eventful day. 

“ ‘Nov. i. — Went nutting with the Cameron girls 
without asking mother. Hurt my foot so I couldn’t 
wear my shoes to Sunday School, and mother took 
the nuts.’ I believe I shall do a small quart for that. 
They were beautiful shoes — patent leather. I think 
one ought to be just to oneself. 

“ ‘Nov. 9. — Pulled Janie Keeler’s hair for watch- 
ing old Buxby kill a calf and saying she liked it. She 
told her mother and her mother came to see Momsie.’ 
I don’t care. I am glad of it. I only wish I’d pulled 
it harder, little heathen ! —And mother didn’t look a 
bit sorry. It’s a great satisfaction to know that what- 
ever you do your mother will deal justly with you. 
I very seldom get more than I deserve. 

“ ‘Nov. 22. — Dick and I ate some of Jane’s frost- 
ing. I don t care, she wouldn’t even give us a taste 
and it was pineapple flavoring. Jane knows I’d rather 
have pineapple than anything,— and I helped her seed 
a whole bowl of raisins. Such a fuss over a spoonful 


SETTLING OLD SCORES 


5 

of frosting! A body ought to have some privileges 
on Thanksgiving Day. 

“ ‘Nov. 30. — Mulligan’s cat had kittens — four of 
the dearest little things. Mr. Mulligan was going to 
kill them. He didn’t even mean to save one of the 
prettiest. Old Topsy Mulligan hid them under our 
shed.’ I don’t see how I was to blame for that, but 
I seem to have been. Of course, I might have 
betrayed them to their bloody pursuer, but I didn’t, 
and the few pieces of breakfast cakes I managed to 
smuggle in my apron pocket only saved the family 
digestion. Mother said they were Mr. Mulligan’s 
kittens, but they weren’t, they were Topsy’s. That 
is one of the delicate points upon which I can not 
agree even with mother. 

“ ‘Dec. 1. — Cut Jane’s embroidery silk in little bits.’ 
That was mean. I’ll heap the measure up for that. 
But she looked so precise and scrumptious in her new 
blue dress and lace collar, and I was tired and dirty 
and almost froze, too' (Dick and I had been skating), 
and I wanted her to sew on a button; still one 
oughtn’t to lose one’s temper, and perhaps I shall do 
an extra quart if the strawberries hold out. Good- 
ness knows I hope they will, but it’s doubtful,” as 
she whisked over another page. 

“ ‘Dec. 10. — Forgot mother’s errands and went with 
Nellie Coot to help carry their baby home.’ It’s a 
terrible little thing, all chaps. I was listening to Nellie 


6 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


about how they came out and that is what made me 
forget. If I had a chappy baby I should try to do 
something to heal it up. The errands were very 
important as the minister came to our house to supper 
and we didn’t have any butter. 

“ ‘Dec. 23. — Raveled out my winter hood to crochet 
father some wristlets for Christmas/ I don’t care, 
I didn’t have a thing for father, and I always hated 
the hood. I can crochet beautifully too, mother said 
so. Oh, yes, and I traded my amber beads to Hattie 
Mintey for a postal-card album to give Jane. I don’t 
know why I couldn’t for they were mine. It’s hard 
to scrimp at Christmas time. I made mother a lovely 
cotton cat. If I ever marry I hope my husband will 
be rich and will give me an allowance. 

“ ‘Dec. 26. — Dick and I and Giddy Reason got to 
snowballing the old mill and we broke seventeen 
lights.’ Father had to pay for half of them. Giddy 
Leason said we didn’t, but we did. Dick and I 
wouldn’t tell a lie. I don’t care, I hit most. Giddy 
Leason can’t throw for sour beans. 

“ ‘Jan. 7. — Jane and I had a spat over the dishes. 
I think I ought to rinse them if I have to wipe them. 
It’s horrid being dictated to. I snatched the dipper 
and burned Jane’s hand. Mother made me carry my 
own in a sling all the rest of the day.’ It was horrible 
for Dick took his new bobs up to the plank hill. Who 
could coast with their hand in a sling? Of course, 


SETTLING OLD SCORES 


7 

I was sorry about Jane; but I still think I ought to 
have rinsed the dishes. 

“ 'Jan. 20. — Left mother’s best pitcher on the well 
curb all night. It was full of water and froze and 
broke of course.’ That is just my luck. I was just 
filling it when Dick called me to the barn to see his 
new skees. 

“ 'Feb. 4. — Dick and I went skeeing, and I lost 
mother’s mufif.’ I was trying to look like the picture 
in her book of poems. That certainly looks very 
grand. I like to live up to things. Anyhow it is hard 
to skee with one skee, and Dick and I only had a pair 
between us. 

“ ‘Feb. 14. — Sold my new sponge and pencil box 
and three slate pencils and a button buzz to Jessie 
May for ten cents to buy teacher a valentine. I got 
a lovely one, all angels and forget-me-nots — the 
dearest thing with a little verse.’ Mother says that 
it means just for father to buy me more, but it don’t. 
I can wash my slate with my hand, and I’d have lost 
the pencils, and the box isn’t any good — I never keep 
my pencils in it — and I’ve stood on the floor three 
times over the button buzz already. Teacher did 
look so pleased. I ain’t sorry a mite.” 

Inside the clock was striking ten, and Marjorie’s 
chair came down with a thud. “Twenty quarts and 
all this and this and this and this to do yet,” and she 
ran a sticky finger down each succeeding page. “My ! 


8 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


it takes me to do things, but it takes much longer to 
undo them. I shall probably have to finish up with 
cherries, only they are not ripe yet. We will never 
eat so many strawberries, and poor mother! Think 
of doing them up! To say nothing of bankrupting 
father! It is awful to have to buy imported straw- 
berries in May, but I couldn’t wait. It takes for ever- 
lasting to even read my sins, to say nothing of making 
good. Supposing I just cancel a lot, who’d ever 
know it? I don’t have to do it, anyhow. Nobody 
else does. Jane is just as mean as I am, only she 
keeps it inside her. I’d rather let it out. I’d rather 
do things and then pay for ’em. It’s fun to hull 
strawberries. I don’t mind it a mite — ” She grabbed 
up the pan. “ — And I shan’t quit till the last thing 
is paid for; till the accounts on the old book are all 
squared and I’ve earned my right to a new one. Do 
you s’pose I could take a pen and begin on that nice 
clean thing and this one all black and blotted and 
horrid? I always have done penance on my birthday 
and I always expect to. I never expect to be so good 
I won’t have to. But it’s something to begin each 
year clean. I think I — I should be swamped if I let 
it go two years. I always think that no matter how 
much mother punishes me, that isn’t making good 
myself, and when I read back through my old diaries 
if I find one thing that hasn’t been settled right I feel 


SETTLING OLD SCORES 


9 

mean and sneaking. It seems to ease my conscience 
to do strawberries or something. 

“Last year I did carpet rags, an ounce apiece, and 
the year before that I pieced on mother’s nine patch. 
I love to read my old diaries, but if I should cheat in 
this one thing I should want to burn them. When 
I do something so perfectly horrible that I think 
there isn’t any use. trying to be good any more I 
look back and find something much worse that I did 
last year, and it comforts me. Wouldn’t it be awful 
to just let them accumulate year after year till one 
had to reckon for them all in a bunch ? I love to 
think that I’m beginning new, and at the end of the 
year I shan’t have but three hundred and sixty-five 
against me if I do one every day. When you think 
of three hundred and sixty-five, twenty or thirty 
crimes in a year isn’t so many, is it? When I look 
at it that way things seem to brighten up.” Her 
nimble fingers made the hulls fly. “If I do twenty 
more before dinner, that will leave only a few for 
afternoon. 

“Jane, oh, Jane! Would you mind telephoning 
father to send up another crate ? They shrink a great 
deal in doing up.” Marjorie consoled herself. 
“They will not look so many when they are in cans. 
Say fifteen or twenty quarts — that isn’t a one too 
many for such a family, only they seem a great many 
because they are a penance. I think one more crate 


10 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


will clear me, however. Say, Jane! Do I smell some- 
thing cooking? Where’s mother? Oh, Jane! You 
needn’t bother about that birthday cake. I shan’t 
mind not having it. What are we going to have for 
dinner! Oh, have beans! Do, Jane! Beans are so 
very satisfying. I’d dearly love to have beans on my 
birthday.” 

“Yes, have beans!” Dick came panting up from 
the barn and snatched a handful of finished berries 
from Marjorie’s pan. “Gee, but they’re good! How 
much longer are you going to work, Sis ?” 

“Till I get through, and that’ll be never if you 
stand there and gobble as fast as I hull, Dick Moxie.” 
Marjorie spread her apron over the ravaged pan. “I 
should think you might have the decency to hull for 
yourself at least.” 

“Well, if you want to sit there and mope all day, 
you can. I’m going to the beech woods after May 
flowers this afternoon.” Dick marched off tantaliz- 
ingly. 

Marjorie grabbed up the despised diary and crossed 
off for “Aug. i,” savagely. All the spring she had 
longed to go to the beech woods, and now — her fingers 
turned into fairies in their dexterity to remove hulls. 

“You could easily have made it a pint instead of a 
quart,” Jane suggested after it was all over, and 
Marjorie came panting up to the chamber with the 
stained diary clutched in one hand and a clean apron 


SETTLING OLD SCORES 


ii 


and hair ribbons in the other. “ — It would have done 
quite as well. It seems tame — ” 

“Well, it needn’t ‘seem’ to you. They’re done, and 
I didn’t skimp ’em, and I’m glad of it. Where’s the 
comb, Jane Moxie? Have you had it? It isn’t on 
the dresser, it isn’t here, and it isn’t here.” 

Marjorie went over the stand and the whatnot like 
a whirlwind. “I should think you might help me 
find it instead of standing there like a dummy; you 
had it last.” 

“So a person would judge by the looks of your 
hair,” Jane made mild retort. “Now that you are 
twelve, Marjorie, you ought to take more pains with 
your hair.” 

“Well, I’m not going to. I don’t see as being twelve 
makes a bit of difference. I didn’t feel any more jar 
when I went over than Dick and I did when father 
took us over the county line. We looked all along the 
road for it. I suppose we thought ’twould be about 
like mother’s clothes line. I remember where father 
said it was there was corn growing on either side, 
and so I suppose eleven and twelve will run right 
together and you won’t notice the least change in me, 
my dear good sister. I don’t feel it coming, anyhow. 
I imagined there would be symptoms as there is with 
measles. You remember father said I shouldn’t have 
the croup any more when I got to be ten, but I did, 
I had it worse’n ever, and I’ll probably have a good 


12 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


many things worse’n ever. It’ll take more strawber- 
ries another time. Well, I hope you haven’t swal- 
lowed it. It’s mother’s best one.” She rattled through 
a stack of magazines. 

Jane came over from tidying the closet and picked 
it up from the window sill. “Never mind tearing 
the house down,” she reproved. “If you weren’t so 
harum-scarum, it might seem good to be orderly for 
once, and on your birthday.” 

“Yes, it might, but it doesn’t. It seems horrid. 
And if being comfortable is harum-scarum I’m glad 
I am most of the time. I should hate to think I would 
never be again.” Marjorie snagged the comb through 
her ragged locks viciously. “There! Dick’s going! 
Here! Tie this!” She snatched the ribbon up from 
the stand and turned to Jane. “Just any old kind of 
a bow. It don’t matter. It’ll come down, anyhow. 
There!” 

She grabbed the clean apron and ran through the 
hall and down the stairs, shedding the old one as she 
went. “Oh, Dick! Dick! Dick!” she called. “I’m 
coming. Here I am. Wait for me!” 

She overtook him sitting leisurely on the front walk 
flipping his jackknife. “Oh, Dicky! You’re a dear. 
You did wait. I was so afraid you wouldn’t, I ran. 
I know there are millions of them — little feathery 
hepaticas, and spring beauties, and anemones, yes, 
and squirrel’s corn— I’ll bet there’s squirrel’s corn 


SETTLING OLD SCORES 


13 


already, and yellow adder tongues and bloodroot. 
Oh, I wouldn't have missed going. I'm going to be 
perfectly, perfectly happy. It's such a comfort to be 
happy, and so useless being miserable. Did you ever 
think of that? That's a wonderful thought. It came 
to me when Jane was tying my hair so tight that my 
ears stood out. I wonder if being orderly, as Jane 
puts it, improves my appearance as much as it hurts 
my disposition. Do you think that being skinned is 
especially becoming to me? — And, oh, Dick! Isn't 
it a perfectly lovely thing to have a clean conscience 
at least once a year?" 


CHAPTER II 


A BEECH WOODS CHAPTER 

“I wonder if I shall ever find words big enough for the woods.” 

Of all delightful spots the beech woods excelled 
them all to Nor thrum village folk — a long low slope 
backgrounding the town in spring with a beautiful 
line of shimmering green known only to young beech 
leaves, against which the painted cottages rested like 
flowers in the grass; in summer deepening to vivid 
emerald, alive with light and birds; transformed in 
autumn to rarest quivering gold. Verily to walk there 
was to foretaste the golden glory of Paradise. Gold 
above, below, mid-air, drifting, dreamy gold. Gold to 
make spendthrifts of the children, who waded and 
plunged and wallowed in the reckless extravagance 
of plenty. 

But this was spring, and all things were in, the 
delightful crisp lettuce-green stage. Did you ever 
smell tender, newborn beech leaves on a warm after- 
noon in May? Marjorie began to sniff hungrily 
before they reached the stile, and when she stood 
upon it looking in, her hands came together in a 
rapture of ecstasy. 

“Oh, Dick! Is it flowers? No, it isn’t. It smells 


14 


A BEECH WOODS CHAPTER 


15 


like roses. Oh, what is it? It’s like entering the land 
of fairies. Oh, Dick! Did you ever see anything so 
perfectly deliciously beautiful? Oh, if I could always 
live in the woods like this I should never be wicked. 
Do you know, no matter how mean I was, or what 
horrible thing I was about to do, if I came here I 
should never do it. It comes over me like a big wave, 
and something breaks loose inside me and is washed 
away. And it isn't just seeing things, though Heaven 
couldn't be prettier." She stretched her arms to take 
in the glories, — “And it isn't just hearing all those 
birds, nor smelling those beautiful smells ; it 's like a 
great wonderful Presence that comes down and lays 
its hands on one. I should feel it if I were blind and 
deaf like old Brewster Smead, I know I should, Dick. 
It — it makes me swell in here. Oh, such a feeling! 
Dick, does it make you swell too? I should love to 
be an Indian. Just think how lovely it would be 
always to live in such places! To watch the little 
wee bittie leaves being born even, — watch them get- 
ting green, greener, greenest, and the tiny pink posy- 
babies crawling out of their winter blankets. Do you 
suppose it makes an Indian swell inside as it does 
me? 

“There! I knew we should find them. Look, Dick! 
Lookee ! Look ! Did you ever see so many perfectly 
beautiful darlings? White ones and blue ones and 
pink ones, yes, and variegated. Oh, let's not pick any 


i6 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


but just sit down here and enjoy them! Oh, I’m glad 
I didn’t see one till these. It’s like running upon a 
feast all spread. I do so love to have nice things 
surprise me.” 

They sat on a gray boulder, lichened with little 
tufts of red and green moss and draped with a feath- 
ery spray of squawberry vine. Over their heads a 
maple sapling drooped fragrant yellow tassels of 
bloom. At their feet were the hepaticas. 

“You little dears!” Marjorie reached over and 
stroked some of the fluffy bonnets. “You all came 
in a party, didn’t you? And' that tall stately one, 
dressed in white, is your chaperon, I guess. You’re 
having a delightful time and we won’t disturb you, 
though I should like to take you home to mother. I 
wonder if it hurts you much to pick you? I don’t 
see how it can and yet I always feel as though it did. 
If I ever pick a flower I always shut my eyes up tight 
and do it as mercifully as I can. Do you shut your 
eyes when you pick a flower, Dick?” Marjorie lifted 
her chin from her hands questioningly. “I don’t like 
to hear the little sound they make when they break, 
do you?” 

“Flowers are plants. Only animal life can feel,” 
Dick enlightened grandly. 

“I don’t know whether they can or not, Dick Moxie. 
Just because they can’t talk. — A fish can’t talk, but 


A BEECH WOODS CHAPTER 


17 

you know a fish can feel, else why does it squirm and 
act so!” 

“If you feel that way about it I shouldn’t think 
you’d fish, Sis,” Dick reproved scathingly. “What 
makes you?” 

“I don’t ‘know what makes me,” Mar jorie admitted 
weakly. “ ’Tain’t because I don’t know they feel and 
suffer too, and I’m a murderer every time I throw 
one up on the bank to flop and wiggle his poor little 
life out and get sand in his eyes. It’s all the more 
awful because he can’t talk ; if he could we wouldn’t 
do it. We wouldn’t dare to. If I just let myself 
stand and watch him do you think I could bear it, 
Dick Moxie? Could you? No, I just shut my eyes 
and go after another one, same as all the rest, and 
that’s how we keep from thinking what a wicked thing 
we’ve done.” 

“I never saw anybody love to land ’em any better’n 
you do,” Dick aceused her. 

“I s’pose there’s a streak of cannibal in me same 
as there is in you ; but you ought to be the last one to 
throw it up to me, Dick Moxie, a boy who can poke 
out fish eyes for bait when he runs out of angleworms, 
or stick a poor little crying frog onto his hook. Oh, 
Dick ! I never can forgive you for that — never, never ! 
You know I always throw back the minnies.” 

“Well, I’m not so awfully conscientious,” admitted 
Dick. 


i8 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“You ought to be, though.” Marjorie was very- 
serious. “Some day I mean to settle all these ques- 
tions, and then I shall live up' to them ; not to, is being 
a hypocrite. Of course that's why God put such 
thoughts in our heads — if there wasn't anything in it 
they wouldn't come. Just because nobody else thinks 
them isn't any excuse for us. Somebody has to have 
them first. If I ever do make up my mind I shall be 
faithful. It's just as wicked to eat fish somebody else 
has caught as it is to kill them yourself'' — Marjorie's 
conscience pursued her — “for you see, there are so 
many people who will eat fish and if I eat one that 
would have satisfied somebody else another will have 
to be caught, that's all.'' It was plain logic, she 
convinced herself. 

“Oh, there are so many things ! When one begins 
to think there is no end ; one can think on and on and 
one question is sure to lead to another. There are a 
great many things that I must think of by and by.” 
She sighed heavily and crept nearer to Dick. 

“Well, don't begin on the fish question until after f 
vacation,” he advised her. “I'm going to Whalen* 
Lake this summer, and I did mean to fit up two poles, 
but if you're going to do so much thinking maybe one 
will be enough.” 

Oh, but I m not, not so soon,” Marjorie interposed 
hurriedly. “Oh, Dick, are you sure f Did father 
say you might? Do you suppose mother will let me? 


A BEECH WOODS CHAPTER 


19 


Oh, we’ll take our lunch and a bottle of cold tea, and 
have our fish poles and things hanging on behind, just 
as old Jimmerson does when he goes past! Oh, won’t 
it be jolly, jolly! Even if it is wrong a few more 
won’t matter, do you think it will, Dick?” Marjorie 
tried to appease a smarting conscience. “ Anyhow, 
I am not really sure that it is wrong yet. 

“Oh, Dick! Couldn’t we get some sweet corn and 
build a little fire by the side of the lake and roast it? 
You know, like we did when we went huckleberry ing. 
That was jolly fun. Is there anything in the world 
as good as roasted corn when it’s all smoky and 
tastes of outdoors? Oh, I do hope mother will let 
me. I guess I am a little young to settle such serious 
questions; only I think after this I will always put 
them in a bucket of water. It seems more merciful, 
don’t you think so?” Having temporized to her satis- 
faction, Marjorie drew a breath of relief. 

The sunshine splashing on the green leaves above 
seemed to be spattering in a golden spray upon the 
mold-brown carpet about them. Where the green 
canopy was draped away, patches of the bluest of blue 
skies showed. A thousand birds marveled with them. 
Little wild things, scurrying around through the 
leaves, ceased regarding them as intruders. Light 
perfumed zephyrs sprang up from nowhere and went 
nowhere. One freed Marjorie’s soft hair from the 


20 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


confining string; another came and made it into 
becoming tendrils about her face. 

“Dick, did you ever think how the leaves are like 
tiny boats anchored to the trees by their brown stem 
ropes ?” She brought her eyes down from a long 
contemplation of the maple sapling’s mysteries. 
“Just hundreds of little green boats tugging to get 
away into the great, sea. If they could, they would 
just flutter a little way, then fall, wouldn’t they? 
They would never get away out there where they 
wanted to go, and yet they are impatient to try.” 
She grew thoughtful. “Such thoughts, when they 
come, go way deep in and make me think things that 
I can’t say. It’s in the woods that I always think 
things too big for words. I wonder if I shall ever 
find words big enough for the woods?” 

They went farther up on the hillside, and there 
were the white shoots of bloodroot piercing the dark 
mold, and oh! most fragrant Mayapple blooms, — 
white, white like a crown oh the hilltop. Marjorie 
got down on her knees to smell them. She drew the 
satiny blooms tenderly through her fingers. One 
succulent stalk snapped and left its waxen treasure 
in her hand. 

“Oh, Dick ! it bleeds,” she said remorsefully. “See ! 
Two tiny drops of blood. Isn’t it an awful thought 
that no matter how I try I can never put it back, and 
how easily I destroyed it, and how long months and 


A BEECH WOODS CHAPTER 


21 


months it was waking to life in the little brown seed 
hidden from sight. Flowers bleed, and trees bleed 
when some horrid man sinks his cruel ax in their 
side,” she philosophized grimly. 

“Yes, and you dig out the poor potatoes' eyes, and 
strip the corn of its ears, and behead the helpless 
cabbage,” Dick finished. “You might as well be as 
miserable as you can while you're enjoying it. Just 
think how you sink your teeth into the melon's crim- 
son heart, and bite into the poor apple's cheek. Say! 
How much’ll you give me to see a bird's nest, Sis?” 

“Oh, where, Dick!” Marjorie’s face was aglow 
once more. “Is it in the alder bush? Oh, I know. 
It's in that sumac, isn't it? Now I see it. Oh, what 
kind of a bird is it, Dick? Do you think if we should 
climb real still and peep down it would frighten her?” 

“It may be a thrush or a catbird,” Dick suggested. 
“Anyhow, she isn't on her nest. I saw her fly over 
into that hazel thicket.” A frightened protest went 
up as they began to mount. Three limbs high and 
they looked down upon it, snug and brown on a sumac 
bough, five little blue-green eggs of transparent 
beauty snuggled in the down. Marjorie almost lost 
her hold in a convulsive effort to express her delight 
without hands. They crept down as stealthily as they 
had come. 

“To think that the woods are full of beautiful 
secrets like that,” she whispered as she clutched Dick’s 


22 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


arm at the bottom. “A thousand birds and each with 
a nest. Oh, Dick! doesn’t it make you feel like hold- 
ing your breath?” 

(( I can’t say that it does, not for long at a time,” 
Dick admitted. “You’d better not try it, Sis.” 

“Five tiny eggs and no one ever saw them before. 
And to think they hold wings, beautiful wings to beat 
the air .with, and strength to carry them away, away, 
to a southern land, yes, and bird songs enough to 
gladden a whole town as big as Nor thrum. Five 
little eggs, Dick, and think of all the music they will 
make in the world!” 

“Yes, if they hatch,” put in Dick, “and if the cat 
don’t get them, or an old hawk — or something. There 
is always an if, you know.” 

“Yes, there is always an if,” sighed Marjorie. 

“Do you know, Dick, when I grow up I don’t 
believe I shall be a fine lady. I used to think I should 
be, with a very long train and a string of diamonds, 
but really I don’t believe that I will, do you? I think 
I should prefer a wild life better. I shall build me a 
bungalow in the woods and be an artist or a writer 
or something. I think I should love to do something 
like that — and a train would be sure to be torn. Do 
you think I was cut out for a fine lady, Dick?” 

“Well, I hardly think it.” Dick eyed her critically. 
“That is, you don’t show any of the earmarks now. 


A BEECH WOODS CHAPTER 


2 3 

But you are only in the jellyfish stage and there’s no 
telling what you may develop.” 

"If I were already grown, I should buy this beech 
woods and build right there under that spreading 
tree,” Marjorie went on. "I should have a one-story 
cottage of three rooms. Three rooms are a great 
plenty when it come to sweeping and dusting.” 

They sat down side by side and planned it out — 
how it was to have a broad porch in front and a dear 
little cupola on top where one might sit and watch 
the birds build nests through the whole day long if 
one wished. They argued childishly over angles, 
Dick contending that the house ought to set with the 
compass, and Marjorie insisting that it face the tree 
at all hazards. They finally compromised by turning 
it square southeast, which after all is as much a direc- 
tion as plain east or south, is it not? And who could 
see it, anyhow, in the woods ? 

Tired of planning, they dug "potatoes” from the 
roots of the spotted adder tongue, and Marjorie found 
a handful of crimson squawberries for dessert. Near a 
fallen log, Dick dug up something green and pungent. 

"Oh, leeks!” Marjorie pounced upon him. "Dast 
you eat one? What will mother say — and Jane? Just 
one ! I will if you will. Oh, they are good !” 

It was only when the North rum whistles began to 
blow that they thought of going home. 


CHAPTER III 

marjorie's Waterloo 

“I never can remember anything that isn’t good sense. 

“ ‘By the flow of the inland river, 

By the flow of the inland river, 

By tlje flow — ’ ” 

Marjorie sat crosslegged on the floor, holding fast 
to her toes. She was rocking back and forth, back 
and forth, miserably. 

“ ‘Whence the fleets of iron hath fled, 

Whence the fleets of iron — ’ ” 

An open book lay on the floor before her. She 
poked at it spitefully. “Horrid old thing!” she said. 

“ ‘Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 

Where the blades of the grave-grass — ’ ” 

Dick, down under the window, was yelling like an 
Indian. The sun came pouring in through the drawn 
white curtains and lay in a square of gold, Marjorie 
in the midst. 

“ ‘Asleep are the ranks of the dead ; 

Asleep are the ranks of the dead ; — ’ ” 


24 


MARJORIE’S WATERLOO 


25 


she went on in a monotone. Tantalizing odors came 
in from out of doors — sweet clover, and apple blos- 
soms, and mother's bed of pinks below. An oriole 
somewhere in the maples invited her to come out. 
The little fingers of breeze that came in and tugged at 
her stray locks were maddening. 

“* ‘Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 

Under the one, the Blue; 

Under the other, the Gray/ ” 

She rattled off the last four lines frantically, then 
she went over to the window and looked out at Dick. 
He was putting out the croquet set. His cap was ofif. 
The wind was whisking his hair up in little challeng- 
ing tufts. The striped mallets and red, white, and 
blue balls were scattered in the grass all about him. 

“The red's mine! The red wins!" she shouted 
down at him. “Oh, Dick! Whatever made you think 
of it?, We haven't had a game this year." 

She grabbed her sunshade ofif the wall, and gave the 
despised book a final poke with her toe as she rushed 
out and down the steps, three at a bound. 

“I'm afraid Marjorie won't have her piece," re- 
marked Mother Moxie at the dinner table. “There 
are seven verses, you know, Marjorie." 

“Yes, I will, too!" defended Marjorie. “I've got 
the last four lines of every one of the seven this 


26 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


minute. There isn’t a thing to learn, only one, and 
‘other,’ and ‘laurel’ and ‘willow,’ and ‘blossoms’ and 
‘garlands.’ Do you want to hear me rattle them off? 
Father Moxie smiled across his plate. He had a silent 
sympathy for his wayward daughter. 

“No, I guess we’ll postpone the pleasure till you 
have it all. I suppose you’ll surprise us on Decoration 
Day, won’t you, Marjorie?” 

“Of course I will. I most always do, don’t I, 
father?” 

“I guess that’s no joke,” said Dick irreverently. 

“Well, Dick knows, too,” retorted Marjorie tartly. 
“I just surprised him bad enough — five games out of 
six. How’s that for high ? Reds for me every time !” 
She passed up her plate for a fresh supply. 

“I don’t see how Marjorie expects to get through 
if she doesn’t study.” Sister Jane brought back the 
unpleasant topic. “I have my piece all by heart, and 
all there is to do is to practice expression and gestures, 
of course.” 

“Oh, bother the gestures !” Marjorie threw out her 
long arms emphatically. “They don’t worry me. I 
can put in plenty of them.” 

“You leave the gestures to Marjorie, she’ll fix them 
all right,” Dick commended. “She’s a brick!” This 
was the usual ultimatum of his remarks, and seemed 
to keep him and Marjorie on pleasant terms. 

“I don’t care! I hate learning pieces,” Marjorie 


MARJORIE’S WATERLOO 


27 


said, as she went back to the neglected book. “Every- 
body knows that old thing, anyhow. It’s older'n the 
hills. I don't like it. I never did." 

“Well, you insisted on having it," Sister Jane 
accused her. “Now, I think Henry Wabd Beecher's 
address on ‘The American Flag' or ‘Valley Forge' 
would have been much better for you." 

“Yes, or ‘Independence Bell.' " Dick popped his 
head in at the door without warning. “I’m learning 
‘Custer's Last Charge' and it's a cracker jack. 

“ ‘Out swept the squadrons, the fated three hundred, 
Into the battle-line, steady and full; 

Then down the hill-side exultantly thundered, 

Into the hordes of the Old Sitting Bull.’ ” 

He quoted a few sample lines. 

“What's ‘hordes'?" questioned Marjorie. “Why 
don't you say ranks ? It's easier. ‘Into the ranks of 
the Old Sitting Bull' — that sounds just as well." 

“But it wouldn't be right, Marjorie," reproved 
Sister Jane. “When you are quoting an author you 
are supposed to quote entire," she said with an air of 
superior knowledge. 

“Well, I don't see what's the difference, as long as 
it sounds as well. Now, in my piece it says : ‘Asleep 
on the ranks of the dead,' but I say ‘Asleep are the 
ranks of the dead.' That's easier to remember, and 
it's better sense. I can't remember anything that isn't 


28 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


good sense. Even the author himself couldn t object 
to the change ; do you think so, mother ? ’ Mother 
Moxie smiled. 

“The reason I picked this out,” she explained with 
a sudden burst of confidence, “wasn’t it’s special 
worth — I hope you don’t think I like anything so 
tame — but it’s easy. Now, just listen here: 

“ ‘Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; — 

Under the one, the Blue ; 

Under the other r the Gray. 

“ ‘Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day; 

Under the laurel, the Blue ; 

Under the willow, the Gray. 

“ ‘Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 

Under the roses, the Blue, 

Under the lilies, the Gray.’ ” 

Dick clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent 
her going on to the bitter end. A mumbling sound 
came from between his fingers. 

“Well, you can all see that’s easy,” gasped Mar- 
jorie, extricating herself. “A body could jingle on 
like that forever.” She escaped through the door, 
grabbing a cookie from the sideboard as she ran. 

“Marjorie is such a harum-scarum,” said Mother 
Moxie anxiously. “She’s too full of play to study.” 


MARJORIE’S WATERLOO 


29 


“Yes, but it seems to me she ought not to be allowed 
to disgrace the family/' remarked Sister Jane, who 
rather enjoyed hearing Marjorie properly repri- 
manded. “She ought to spend a certain time each 
day—” 

Dick followed at Marjorie's heels. “Ho, Sis! Wait, 
Sis !” he called; but she had reached the back shed and 
was disappearing up the ladder to the loft when he 
overtook her. He made a grab at her vanishing 
petticoats. 

“I'm after my kite,” she said without turning round. 
“Don't you feel that breeze? There never will be 
another such day, never. Haven't we waited for it? 
— and it's here. 

“What are you standing there for like a stodden 
bottle? I'll 'tend to this. You go and get the twine, 
and that ball of red yarn in mother's workbasket, 
and your straw hat if you're going, and bring me my 
brown sunbonnet. It hangs on the kitchen door, I 
guess,” she called to him over her shoulder. 

“Hangs?” Who ever knew you to hang anything? 
I'll look for it under the bed or on the parlor table,” 
he taunted as he sped away, for an afternoon kiting 
was not to be despised by Dick. 

Racing over the commons, trying to get a good 
start ; sitting among the dandelions watching the kite 
float up and up, like a great gaudy bird, dipping and 
soaring, to mingle at last with the woolly white clouds 


30 


MARJORIE M0X1E 


that blotted the blue ; lying back under the shade of 
a great horse-chestnut dreaming, he forgot all about 
“Custer’s Last Charge.” 

Marjorie lay with her head in the dandelions. She 
was curling one. “The Blue and The Gray” had been 
blotted out by the wonderful yellow and green. 

Meanwhile the inevitable Decoration Day exercises 
crept nearer. 

The next day Dick raised the pole. Of course, 
Marjorie was his right hand man. It took every 
spare minute of time from early morning till late at 
night, they scarcely found time to snatch a hurried 
bite. Even Father Moxie was enthusiastic over the 
results. The twenty-five cent flag tacked to its top, 
fluttered out bravely. The next day was Sunday. 
Monday, after school, they made garden, and Tuesday 
they raked the lawn, and Wednesday the bird got 
out. Thursday Marjorie sat in a wretched heap on 
the parlor floor, with the calendar spread out on her 
lap. 

“I thought Decoration Day was on Monday !” She 
hurled the words at placid Sister Jane, who sat darn- 
ing her best mitts. 

“No; on Friday, dear,” corrected that superior 
young person gently. 

“What! To-morrow? No, it isn’t.” Marjorie’s 
fingers ran over the last few days desperately. “Yes- 
terday was the 28th, and to-day’s the 29th, and—” 


MARJORIES WATERLOO 


3i 


‘To-morrow's the 30th," finished Jane. 

Marjorie went digging into the bookcase after the 
“Standard American Speaker." “I'd like to know 
where things go to in this house," she grumbled. “I 
put that book right on the third shelf, I know I did; 
but 'tain't here, and 'tain't here, and 'tain't here." 
She searched the music rack and the table drawer. 

“I wish folks would leave my things be. They're 
always sticking them somewhere." She confronted 
Jane: “If you know where 'tis, you'd better tell, 
so there, Miss! Oh!" Her eyes spied it, poked into 
an obscure corner behind the paper basket. She 
dragged it forth and straightened the warped covers. 

To the back porch she betook herself, away from 
the sight and sound of everybody, with four feather 
cushions and father’s big carpet hassock, and the look 
of a hopeless martyr. The morning-glory vine 
drooped little unpopped pods down upon her unheeded. 
The nesting swallow in the eaves begged and scolded 
her alternately, and finally went back to her nest un- 
satisfied. Mother Moxie went about getting supper 
on tiptoe. Dick came up the path whistling, but 
stopped short, gave a prolonged “whew," and finally 
sneaked around to the side door. 

A sound as of distant thunder issued from among 
the cushions. Now and then a long, energetic arm 
swirled up out of the chaos. 


32 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“ 'All in the battle blood gory, — 

All in the battle blood gory, — 

All in the battle blood gory, — ’ ” 

Mother Moxie wanted some wood, but she remem- 
bered a few sticks left down in the basement sooner 
than intrude upon the enthusiasm of the back porch. 

“ 'In the dusk of eternity meet, — 

In the dusk of eternity meet, — ’ ” 

Sister Jane came to the door with Marjorie’s muddy 
rubbers just picked up from the parlor floor; but 
she retreated with the reproof on her lips unuttered. 
Marjorie’s energy impressed the whole house with 
a sense of impending doom. 

It was dusk when she came in, pale with unusual 
concentration and tragedy in her eyes. She shut the 
“Standard American Speaker” together with a vicious 
snap. “There now! Eve got it as good as I’m going 
to get it. If I can’t say it, I can’t, and that’s all there 
is of it.” She went out after supper to finish up the 
bonfire she had commenced. 

Excitement reigned on the morrow. Blacking of 
boots, and pressing of ribbons, and a mad rush 
through drawers and closets. Marjorie stood before 
the big glass in the sewing room fixing her hair when 
Dick burst in upon her. “Oh, Marj !” he cried, “you 
can’t guess who’s here.” He waited for the troubled 


MARJORIE’S WATERLOO 


33 

Marjorie to take a dozen pins from her mouth and 
ask, “Who?” 

“It's Uncle Alfred, from Fremont. He’s down in 
the parlor with father this minute. Oh, leave that 
string be, Sis, and stop primping! Come on down 
and see him!” 

“You let go of me, Dick Moxie!” Marjorie jerked 
away from his familiar touches. “I’m not going 
down. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see 
anybody. Oh, Dick!” Marjorie threw herself down 
on the chintz lounge in the full abandonment of 
misery. “I can’t say it,” she wailed. “Oh, Dick! 
It’s all mixed up, — roses and laurels and garlands. 
What shall I do? I shall disgrace father — and — and 
— him. Hide me some place, Dick, do, — in the chest 
or the closet.” 

Dick tried to comfort her as best he could with the „ 
unmartialed lines of “Custer’s Last Charge” rioting 
through his brain. “Oh, I guess you’ve got it all 
right, Sis,” he said. “It’ll come to you at the last 
minute.” He had unlimited faith in the power of 
things to come at the last minute. “Why! When 
you get up there, it’ll seem as though you had known 
it all your life,” he told her. He spoke of the crowded 
Northrum church as “a little handful of folks,” and 
alluded to Marjorie’s previous attempts as “eloquent 
orations but his doleful countenance promised poor 
Marjorie forlorn hope. Mother Moxie came to the 


34 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


stair door and called. “Come down, dear! Your 
Uncle Alfred is here.” 

She clung to Dick on the stairs. “Oh, Dick, I can’t 
go. There’s a hickory nut in my throat. I just can’t 
speak it.” 

Dick gave her a sympathetic hug. “Cheer up, Sis ! 
You’re a brick,” he said. 

“This is our little girl,” Father Moxie was saying. 
“Come here, daughter, and shake hands with your 
Uncle Alfred ! You’ll hear her speak up at the church. 
Marjorie beats them all when it comes to speaking 
pieces.” Dick understood the spasm that crossed 
Marjorie’s face. 

“Never mind! We’re in for it,” he found a chance 
to say as they marched to the church in a body. 
“You’ve met your Waterloo all right; but you can face 
the music without flinching !” She flashed a grateful 
glance upon him. 

The church was a mass of flowers. It seemed to 
Marjorie she should smell May lilies all the days of 
her life, and dream of dead soldiers every night. 
There were ghastly crosses and wreaths and anchors 
that she felt must haunt her forever. A huge flower 
bell hung like an impending doom over the place 
where she must stand to speak. Her eyes glistened, 
her cheeks were like two flaming coals as the pro- 
gram proceeded. Mother Moxie thought she had 
never seen her look so pretty. 


MARJORIES WATERLOO 35 

Sister Jane got up and recited “Decoration Day” 
without a blunder, and when she came to 

“Honor the dead with richest oblation, 

Cover their graves with laurel and palm.” 

she held out the maple branch she had been carrying, 
as though decking an unseen grave. Then three 
small girls stood up and sang “Deck Them with 
Flowers” in a screeching little treble that set Mar- 
jorie's nerves on edge. Oh, the horror of knowing 
she was fifth on the program! As number four went 
stumbling through his oration, the hickory nut in 
Marjorie's throat increased in dimensions, her tongue 
clung to the roof of her mouth, her eyes seemed to be 
transfixed with the horrible swinging bell. 

“Marjorie Moxie!” The dread summons came at 
last. She arose and started forward though it> seemed 
her quaking knees were poor things to sustain her. 
Once under the great bell she courtesied to the sea of 
faces below. There, near the front, was Father 
Moxie smiling up encouragingly, and Uncle Alfred, 
kindly curious* She smiled miserably back at them, 
though no words came from her dry lips. She saw 
Jane's long face, prophetic of defeat. Then she 
began : 


‘Dead! Is it possible? He, the bold rider, 
Custer, our hero, the first in the fight, — ’ ” 


36 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


A look of horror spread over her face, but she 
kept on. 

“No eagle's wing could fly higher, fly wider, 

Than the force of his valor, the strength of his might, 
‘Dead ! our young chieftain/ the battle forsaken, 

‘No one to tell us the way of his fall ! 

Slain in the desert, and never to waken, 

Never, not even to victory’s call !’ ” 

Marjorie’s eyes sought miserably in the crowd for 
Dick. They found him at last, a crouching heap 
against the back wall. Still she plunged madly into 
the second verse. 

“ ‘Comrades, he’s gone ; but ye need not be grieving.’ ” 

Mother Moxie moved in her seat uneasily. Her 
face was anxious. There was puzzled surprise in 
Father * Moxie’ s eyes. And then 

“ ‘Out swept the squadrons, the fated three hundred,—’ ” 

On to the bitter end. Sometimes her voice faltered 
and the words seemed strange to the listeners; but 
mostly it rang out clear and true, and her long arms 
swept in the gestures mightily. She dragged poor 
Custer along to a bloody climax, till 

“ ‘Thicker and thicker the bullets came singing ; 

Down go the horses and riders, and all.’ ” 


MARJORIE’S WATERLOO 


37 


She had caught the spirit. Her face was full of 
the tragedy. She clasped her hands and sprang for- 
ward in terror to 

“ ‘See the wild steeds of the mountain and prairie, 
Savage eyes gleaming from forests of mane — ’ ” 

Oh! Would Dick never stop looking at her? His 
eyes were like two consuming fires, hounding her 
from the field. At last she let her voice sink down 
into the tender reverence befitting an end. The crowd 
was breathless. It waited to applaud her. She looked 
toward the wall, but Dick had disappeared. She 
rushed down the aisle. Mother, with wondering eyes, 
beckoned to her ; father reached a proud hand to detain 
her; Uncle Alfred smiled his congratulations; but 
she hurried blindly past them all. 

She found him on a stone out behind the church 
shed. She fell upon him weakly. “Oh, Dicky, Dick ! 
how could I do it ! — how could I, Dicky, dear !” She 
groveled in her humiliation. “There wasn’t a thing 
in my brains but that, not a thing. I had to say it if 
I opened my mouth. And how could I help learning 
it — how could I ! You dinged it in my ears eternally 
— you know you did! Oh, Dick! Can you forgive 
me? I’ll go right in and tell them this minute. 
I’ll — ” But Dick held her in a vise. There was 
everything but anger in his face. He swung the 
surprised Marjorie clear off the ground. 


38 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


Inside they were calling off his name. The sound 
came through the open window. “ ‘Custer's Last 
Charge,' by Richard Moxie," — then an awful silence 
followed. The pair outside the window were tiptoeing 
away, Marjorie leading Dick by the finger. “I was 
afraid I should laugh," she whispered, holding her 
mouth. “Oh, Dick! wasn't it awful — awftil? Didn't 
you get hot and then cold? I thought I should faint." 

Dick drew a long breath of relief. “It wasn't as 
awful as it might have been. It might have been 
me. Whew! but that's a relief!" He took out his 
Sunday pocket kerchief and mopped his brow. “I feel 
as though I had been let down. You certainly were 
good to me, Sis. Don’t expect me to return the com- 
pliment, though," he said, tweaking her arm appre- 
ciatively. “My! how you did light into it! Sailed 
right along, ke-bumpity-bump. You made up half of 
it, and guessed at the other half. How did you do 
it, Sis?" 

“I just had to go on after I'd 'got started," she 
explained. 

“That child certainly has brains," said Uncle Alfred 
to Father Moxie, as they walked home. “You want 
to bear that in mind. They're not just ordinary 
brains, either," he added, and Father Moxie smiled, 
with a twinkle in the corner of his eye. 


CHAPTER IV 


MARJORIE SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 

“Isn’t it strange that no matter how we plan, we have to do 
just what we have to?” 

“So you are to be my guide, are you?” Uncle 
Alfred smiled kindly upon his young escort. “And 
we are to see the town together this beautiful spring 
morning. I am sure I shall enjoy it immensely.” 

“Dick could have done it much better than I,” 
Marjorie admitted meekly, “if father hadn't sent him 
to the country. Fm afraid I shan’t be able to interest 
you,” 

“Allow me to be the judge of that.” Uncle Alfred 
held the gate open for her gallantly. “Let me see! 
What do we visit first?” 

“I thought I would show you the fountain,” 
Marjorie suggested questioningly. “Do you care for 
fountains? This is a very nice one — a woman with 
four heads, you know, and a lot of little cupids play- 
ing around her. There is a lovely pool of water and 
a nice little patch of grass and some seats.” 

“Let us make for the fountain by all means. Your 
picture conjures up all that is desirable, especially 
the seats.” 

“I thought we could rest and — and talk.” 

39 


40 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“So we can, and get acquainted. It seems to me 
we’re not very well acquainted.” 

“No, we’re not,” doubtfully. 

“But we’re going to be.” 

“Are we?” Marjorie peered timidly up at her 
dignified companion. She had always stood a little 
in awe of him. He walked with such a military bear- 
ing and wore such sleek black clothes. He looked 
unusually aristocratic this morning in his flowing 
black tie and white waistcoat. It didn’t seem as if 
they could have a thing in the world in common. She 
had on her best chambray frock, starched very stiff 
in honor of the occasion, and Jane had done her hair. 
It was tied up smartly with bows on either side. She 
felt of it occasionally. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. 
It felt goose-pimply all along her neck. Uncle Alfred 
raised his black silk umbrella and put it over her head, 
and peered down at her admiringly. 

“You look very sweet and charming this morning,” 
he remarked with his most elaborate gallantry. “I 
surely feel honored to walk out with so fine a young 
lady.” Marjorie blushed, stammered, and looked 
unhappy. She pulled nervously at a skewy front 
breadth. Evidently they weren’t getting on very fast. 

“What’s the matter? Didn’t I say that nicely, 
young lady?” he questioned her. “Am I losing my 
old knack of turning a fine compliment?” He would 
have to find the key to this queer little niece of his. 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 41 


“It seems to me you didn’t look half as pleased as you 
ought to.” 

“Didn’t I look pleased? I tried to. It’s hard to 
look pleased when you aren’t,” Marjorie remarked 
bluntly. “I — I don’t like compliments. I know they 
aren’t true. I know how I look without being told. 
My hair pulls like sixty. It always pulls when Jane 
does it, and I never let her only on snecial occasions.” 

“Is this a special occasion?” 

“Yes. — And my dress is ironed all slaunch ways,” 
she continued. “I was in a hurry to play ball with 
Dick and didn’t take pains. When you don’t say 
anything I think you haven’t noticed it ; but when you 
do, I’m sure you have and are trying to cover it up. 
I don’t like people to put on. I like them to be 
natural.” 

“I assure you I was sincere,” Uncle Alfred defend- 
ed himself. “I hadn’t noticed the front breadth, hon- 
est hearts ! I had only noticed your cheeks, they are 
very pink and match the bows; and your eyes, they 
are like diamonds, if you will permit me to say so.” 

“I’d like you better if you wouldn’t,” Marjorie told 
him simply. “Besides, I don’t think that’s a good 
simile, for eyes really aren’t like diamonds, now are 
they, Uncle Alfred? If you had said they were like 
mother’s jelly tarts that would have been better.” 

“But it wouldn’t have been poetic. Eyes like jelly 
tarts doesn’t sound well.” 


42 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“No, but it’s truer,” Marjorie persisted stubbornly. 

“Oh, all right.” Uncle Alfred bobbed about nimbly 
to keep the umbrella over this eccentric little person. 
“If you don’t like compliments I propose we stop in 
here and buy a little taffy of a more substantial sort,” 
as they neared a grocery store with its display of fruit 
and garden truck in front. “I suppose you won’t 
object to that sort! Let me see! You are especially 
fond of chocolates and caramels, aren’t you? Most 
young ladies are, I believe.” 

“If it wouldn’t matter to you,” Marjorie suggested 
timidly, “I’d rather have pink wintergreen or striped 
stick, if you please.” 

They found the greenest seat in the little park, 
under a lovely willow tree, and then they opened the 
sacks. There were three of them, candy and peanuts 
and fruit. Marjorie clapped her hands enthusi- 
astically. They ate the peanuts and threw the shucks 
in Uncle Alfred’s silk hat. The fountain lady threw 
little silver streams of water up into the May sunshine 
to break into glistening spray mid-air, and fall back 
musically into the pool at her feet. Birds were gath- 
ering about the rim for their morning bath, and some 
few who had come earlier, sat on a sunny limb, preen- 
ing their feathers, pausing now and then to sing a few 
notes of thanksgiving. 

“Don’t you wish that you were little and that it 
wouldn’t spoil your clothes?” Marjorie remarked, as 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 43 


a happy robin flew down and began to dip its crimson 
breast. “Just think; he won’t fade or scrunch or — or 
wilt! It must be lovely never to be starched.” 

“Are you starched?” Uncle Alfred pinched the 
sleeve of her pink frock between his thumb and fore- 
finger. 

“Terribly. Jane always makes them stand alone. 
I suppose they look better, but I detest them. I can’t 
want to look nice bad enough to want to be miserable. 
Do you like things starched?” Uncle Alfred rubbed 
his head. 

“We had a washwoman once who starched my 
shirts all over. No, I didn’t like that.” 

“They were scratchy in the armholes and made a 
horrible noise whenever you did anything!” 

“Just so.” 

“And they made you feel as though you ought to 
sit a great deal straighter than you want to and that 
it would be a sin to laugh out loud !” 

“It did.” 

“Then you know just how I feel. This is my very 
best dress, that is, it’s my very best everyday dress. 
I wish I’d worn my turkey-red calico. Jane can’t 
starch that, thank goodness; starch shows. Would 
you have liked me just as well in my turkey-red calico? 
It is a very comfortable thing. You can’t burst any 
buttons off it for there aren’t any, just a puckering 
string in the neck. There isn’t any belt in it. It is 


44 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


very handy, especially when one is extra hungry. 
Would you have been ashamed of me? I think it 
looks very well. Jane doesn’t.” t 

“Indeed, I should have been proud of you in spite of 
your clothes. Do you know you recited ‘Custer’s Last 
Charge’ very wonderfully yesterday? I was im- 
mensely proud of you then. You are a natural 
orator.” 

“Oh, Dick could have done it a hundred times 
better,” Marjorie protested. “I — I left out some,” 
she confessed with humiliation, “ — and a lot that I 
said wasn’t in the book. Did you notice that?” 

“All the more wonderful,” persisted Uncle Alfred 
stoutly. “Instead of being overcome with stage, 
fright, when you couldn’t remember what you set out 
to, you invented a subterfuge; that’s genius. No 
danger of you getting side-tracked. Your wits will 
carry you through all right, little girl. Just go ahead ! 
I’m not afraid but you’ll do the right thing in the right 
place, and not leave any long, distressing pauses. 
That’s it. To be able to see something quick that’ll 
fill the bill ; not stand wringing your hands while the 
umpire counts you out. You’re going to be a winner. 
Do you know I came here once, almost thirteen years 
ago on special purpose to see you?” 

“Did you come on purpose to see me?” Marjorie’s 
face shone. She slid nearer on the bench. 

‘‘Yes, I did. And you were the reddest baby and 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 45 


the wiggliest one I ever saw. You just lay in your 
mother's lap and kicked yourself crimson, and when 
you’d got your tiny fingers fastened on the thing you 
wanted, do you suppose you would let go? Not much. 
You hung right on and braced your little body and 
held your breath. Once it was my whiskers.” He 
chuckled over the reminiscence. “You kept your 
hold till you had a few all right, and your tiny fingers 
had to be loosened one by one. I admired your grit. 
I said then you were going to amount to something, 
and I believe it — I believe it.” 

“Oh, do you?” .Marjorie was delighted. She 
danced up and down on the park seat till she tore a 
pearl button off the back of her frock. “Oh, I wish 
I knew what! It’s so hard to decide. I want to be 
something big — a writer, or an artist, or an — an 
orator. Are those good things to be, Uncle Alfred? 
— And then, too, I want to marry and have a large 
family. I should dearly love to have little girls to 
make dresses for when I get too big to play with my 
dolls. I should miss them so if I hadn’t them, and 
I dearly love to comb real hair. A doll’s hair comes 
out so terribly. I should dearly love to be somebody, 
but I’ve planned on a large family. Do you think it 
would be possible to have both? I’ve thought about 
it a good deal ; but I don’t see how I can, for if one 
had a large family it would take one most of the time 
mending holes and sewing on buttons, unless, of 


46 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


course, they took after Jane; but they wouldn’t. I 
mean, too, to see that my children have all the cookies 
they want. My cookie jar shall never be empty. I’m 
afraid if I live up to all that I shall not have much 
time for anything else, aren’t you? I could be a 
writer. I should dearly love to write books; but I 
hate to give up my family.” 

“Yes, that would be too bad.” Uncle Alfred’s face 
was solemn. “After all, perhaps that is the worthiest 
ambition. But if you ever do write a book, remember 
I’m to have the first copy !” 

“I’ve thought that perhaps I could write the book 
first and have the family afterward. Wouldn’t that 
be a very good way? Isn’t it strange that there are 
so many things it seems as though a person ought to 
do when perhaps they will never do any of them? 
Now, I may be a dressmaker or a milliner or— or a 
puckery old maid, there isn’t any telling. Isn’t it 
strange that no matter how we plan, we have to do 
just what we have to?” 

“And it’s always best.” 

“Yes, or if it isn’t we can make ourselves believe 
that it is. We can hatch up all sorts of terrible things 
that might have happened if it had been the other 
way, and so we can make ourselves content ; but really, 
Uncle Alfred, is any way best but the best way, no 
matter what we try to make ourselves think?” 

“It’s hard to stand in any one place and see all 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 47 

sides at once,” Uncle Alfred told her. “There’s just 
one All-wise One who knows what’s best for us, little 
girl.” But Marjorie sighed. 

“Anyhow, it doesn’t pay to be miserable,” she said, 
brightening. “Do you suppose the robins bother 
about what’s going to happen?” 

“Not in the least.” 

“And they’re happy. See how they splash and dive 
and spatter ! Oh, Uncle Alfred, would you mind let- 
ting me have the sack!” They had eaten the last of 
the peanuts and Marjorie had dropped a final handful 
of shucks into the hat. “I — I want it to pop,” she ex- 
plained, as Uncle Alfred handed it over. She took it 
by the neck and flattening a place for a mouth-piece, 
blew till it bulged like a toy balloon, then hitting a 
smart rap with her free hand she caused an explosion 
that frightened all the singing birds from the sunny 
limb. 

“You may pop the others if you wish,” she offered 
generously. “Do you love to pop sacks, Uncle 
Alfred?” 

“Didn’t miss a chance when I was a boy,” he told 
her. 

“Did you ever put any firecrackers in a glass 
bottle?” 

“Yes, and under a tin pan.” 

“It makes an awful noise, doesn’t it?” 

“Lovely.” 


48 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Dick and I have to go outside the corporation to 
celebrate. Corporations are a great nuisance. A 
body really can’t do themselves justice inside them.” 

“No, they can’t.” 

Marjorie stood up and shook the pink skins off her 
dress front. “Well, I suppose we ought to be going 
if I’m going to show you the town. What do you care 
for most? There’s the library and the new church 
and the academy — ” she pointed them all out — “they 
look lovely from a distance, don’t they?” She 
caressed the green grass under foot regretfully. 
“And, anyhow, a bird’s-eye view is about as good as 
anything. It’s a long ways over to the academy — 
’most a mile. Oh, Uncle Alfred, do you care for 
dams? I should dearly love to go there. The water 
froths so beautifully and — and roars. We’ll go way 
out on the fishing board to sit. Are you sure,” she 
questioned doubtfully, “that you’d rather see the dam 
than the academy? Of course, you hadn’t — ” 

“I’d a thousand times rather,” Uncle Alfred 
assured her. 

“Really, academies are very poky, and so are 
churches and libraries. If one has seen one — there 
isn’t much variety. I can tell you all about them. 
The new church is made of gray stone and cost one 
million dollars. It has a lovely belfry, and the steeple 
is ever so much higher than the courthouse flag pole. 
There’s a lovely angel in one of the windows, too. 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 49 


Perhaps I ought to show you the angel ; she is really 
worth while. The academy is red brick, and there are 
ever and ever so many windows with ‘pin-heads’ 
sticking out of them, and the library is gray and un- 
comfortable and one mustn’t talk or whisper. 

“Isn’t a librarian a terrible person? She wears 
glasses and looks over them. I think librarian is just 
another name for old maid, but I’m not sure. It isn’t 
to be wondered at, though, when it gives me cold 
shivers to stay in just a little while; what would it be 
if I had to make a business of it! I always feel as 
though my face was in danger of freezing that way, 
too. So now you see you know all about them, and 
you haven’t stirred from this lovely seat. Isn’t it 
much agreeabler to see things sitting still? 

“You dear old fountain lady!” Marjorie went for 
a final sip from the crystal waters. “I really hate to 
leave you. You look so lonesome standing there and 
not able to say a word for yourself. It must be ter- 
rible to have so many mouths and not be able to say 
anything. I’m sure I should die. And having one’s 
feet in water all the while I should think would get 
monotonous to say the least. I’m sure I feel sorry for 
you, you dear old thing!” She patted the cold stone 
countenance. “ — But it must be some consolation 
having four heads. It seems to me you might be able 
to think of a way out of it. I wish I had four heads, 
though I shouldn’t want hair on any one of them, 


5o 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


especially if Jane insisted on combing it; but the heads 
would be convenient, at times, don’t you think so, 
Uncle Alfred ? — especially when it comes to remember- 
ing what one does with things. If I had four heads 
I think I should reserve one especially for that. It’s 
annoying not to be able to remember. But it isn’t 
any wonder when .one has so much to put all into one 
small head that things get terribly mixed. It’s like 
mother’s workbasket, even mother cannot keep that 
straight. 

“If I had four heads I don’t believe I would keep 
one for Sunday, would you? I was thinking it might 
be nice, and not put anything in it but what was 
proper. One could always have it in order and know 
right where their quarterly was and everything; but 
really I don’t believe I would. It would make me one- 
sided, I’m afraid, there’d be so little in my Sunday 
head. If I had four heads I expect it would be just 
four times worse than it is now. I know it’s that 
way with drawers. Once I had one to keep all my 
things in and it was always a sight. You couldn’t 
find a thing if you tried, so mother gave me two 
more.” Marjorie sighed. “I promised mother to 
straighten them out to-day, but I haven’t done it. 
Isn’t it terrible the condition drawers can get them- 
selves into? — Ribbons and collars and shoestrings 
—and— when they get tangled— I guess I’m just 
as well off with one head, don’t you? 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 51 

“Uncle Alfred, where do you suppose she came 
from/’ feeling the fountain lady over interestedly. 
“I was wondering if, when people petrified, they didn’t 
keep them for such purposes as this. I don’t see why 
they couldn’t. She certainly looks very natural an 4 
as though she had gone through a great deal. If a 
woman ever did live with four heads I should like to 
read about her and see what she did with them. 

“You lonely creature! I wonder if you would like 
me to kiss you !” She balanced herself on the pool’s 
rim. “I wonder if any one ever did. You look so 
sad, it almost breaks my heart to look into your eyes. 
You must try to cheer up, and please don’t choke. 
I’m always afraid lest you should forget which way 
the water was going. There might not be any one 
here to bail you out.” Marjorie danced away, holding 
to Uncle Alfred’s hand. All her shyness had worn 
away. They were getting on famously. 

“Do you know,” she confessed, “I love old people 
much better than I do young people? They are so 
much better company. I hope I shall be interesting 
when I get old. I want my hair to be snow white, 
and I mean to wear a dear little cap with lavender 
strings. I want to learn a great many things about 
books and outdoors, so I shall have lovely things to 
talk about, and I shall always carry a few winter- 
greens in my pocket, I think it adds to a person's 


52 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


attractiveness. Don’t you think it is lovely to be old 
and interesting?” 

“I find a great many young people who are ex- 
tremely interesting.” Uncle Alfred patted the little 
pink arm that had slipped through his. “If they keep 
on till they are old they will be very good company 
indeed.” 

“If a body could only be sure of being a nice, 
agreeable old person, it would be some comfort while 
growing up, wouldn’t it? Were you ever harum- 
scarum when you were young, Uncle Alfred?” 

Uncle Alfred laughed over her earnestness. 

“Well, I should say I was, terribly so. There 
wasn’t a thing going on that I wasn’t into, and every 
button was off at night. I used to fasten my trousers 
on with shingle nails. My mother said I was the 
worst of four boys.” 

“And yet you grew up to be a lovely old man.” 
Marjorie drew a deep sigh of satisfaction. 

“Did I? That’s the nicest compliment I’ve had in 
many days, my dear.” 

“I’m so glad, especially about the buttons,” said 
Marjorie. “Buttons are one of my trials. Even 
when they’re all eyes and sewed on with coarse thread 
they don’t stay on. It seems to me they ought to be 
sewed on with wire or — or something.” 

“Yes, or riveted on.” 

“Mother and Jane seem to think I lose them on 





SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 53 


purpose. I guess it’s as much mortification to me as 
to anybody else to have buttons of a half a dozen 
different kinds up and down my back. Once I lost one 
of my bug buttons and had to put on a horse. I 
thought I’d have it all animals, anyway. Did you 
ever see any bug buttons, Uncle Alfred? They’re 
lovely — a big green bug right in the middle of them; 
only they’re bad about getting wrong side up. It 
doesn’t look just right to have bugs crawling up your 
back both ways. I have to sew on all my own buttons 
this year.” She sighed heavily. “I guess Dick and 
I won’t play much croquet.” 

“When I was a boy I used to love to play Teeler’,” 
Uncle Alfred remarked meditatively. 

“Oh, did you? So do I.” Marjorie clapped her 
hands. “ Teeler’ and 'Duck on the Rock’. Did you 
play 'Duck on the Rock’ ?” 

“Yes, and 'Pom Pom Pull-away’ and 'Cranny 
Crow’.” 

Marjorie’s eyes shone with honest admiration. 

“Did you ever play ‘Dog and Deer’ ?” she asked 
solemnly, as though this were a final test of Uncle 
Alfred’s superiority. 

“Many’s the time,” he assured her. “Used to get 
out in the brush patch with Anson and just go it. 
Hear us a mile.” 

“So can they Dick and I,” Marjorie admitted. 


54 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Mother don’t allow us to. I s’pose that’s where a 
good many of the buttons go.” 

“But it’s fun. I had long legs. Anson was short. 
He used to fall down.” 

“Dick is always the dog. He’s a good howler. 
Were you a good howler, Uncle Alfred?” 

“There wasn’t a one that could beat me,” he boasted 
proudly. “Just lift my nose right up and turn into a 
hound any time.” 

“Oh, could you? Please, please do it!” she begged. 
“I’d dearly love to hear you. Not a full-sized howl, 
you know; but a little teenty one for a sample. Just 
put your nose up and go easy like! Nobody will hear 
you. Quick! Now! There isn’t a soul in sight. Oh, 
I never heard any one who could howl like a hound.” 
Uncle Alfred looked about guiltily. Really the coast 
was clear. There didn’t seem to be a soul anywhere. 
It is hard to regulate a howl. Truly he meant it to 
be a teenty one but at its approach the white kitten 
that had been climbing a cherry tree over the fence 
scurried for the house with a tail twice its normal 
size, a dog ran out of his kennel with wrinkled lip, 
growling defensively. A woman, with a dust cap on 
her head, opened the door and looked about with 
troubled eyes. Marjorie laughed. It was very, very 
funny. She hugged Uncle Alfred’s hand appre- 
ciatively. 

“Oh, to-night let’s go out to the barn and all howl 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 55 


Mother won't let us howl in the house. We'll take 
turns howling. I know you can beat Dick." 

The dam met their highest expectations. It was 
seething and foaming with fresh rains. The water 
tugged and tore at its obstruction and went tumbling 
over with a mighty roar. They walked across by the 
narrow plank instead of the safer foot-bridge for the 
sake of the delightful creepy sensation that went up 
and down one's spine. Half-way across Marjorie 
caught Uncle Alfred's hand. 

/'Right here now! Look down! Do you feel it? 
Isn't it lovely? Oh, I love to look down and see it 
boiling! Does your hair stand up any? I'm always 
hoping mine will, but it never does. What can I do 
to make it? I've tried everything. I've gone up in 
Barnby's elm ever so much higher than Dick, and I've 
jumped out of the barn window ever and ever so 
many times. Did you ever cross the ocean, Uncle 
Alfred? I believe that would be about my size. Dick 
says his hair has stood up. I believe it must be easier 
for a boy's hair to stand up than it is a girl's, though 
Belinda says hers stands up just as easy. Mine must 
be the lie-down sort for I’ve done ever so many more 
things than Dick. I can hold my nose under water 
while I count a hundred, can you? The nearest my 
hair ever came to standing up was when I jumped out 
of the swing and caught my dress on a crab-apple 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


56 

limb. Dick couldn’t get me down and neither could 
mother. They had to call in Mr. Humphrey.” 

They gathered handfuls of stones from the pebbly 
shore and sat down on a little dry mound and tossed 
them in, seeing which could make the grandest splash. 
It was fun to toss tiny bits of bark on top and watch 
them come over. Marjorie lured him into the vain 
wish that he were boy enough to remove his shoes and 
stockings. 

“It must be terrible to be too big on the outside 
when you’re not on the inside,” she sympathized. “I 
hope if I have to grow up I’ll grow up even all over. 
The water looks lovely, doesn’t it? The only thing 
that consoles me when I want to wade and can’t is 
thinking of the poor fountain lady who has to and 
probably don’t want to. If there wasn’t anybody to 
tell them, how would a body know what they ought 
to do except by the feeling of want to? If we were 
all alone on a desert isle what we ought to do would 
be to wade, wouldn’t it, because we want to? Wouldn’t 
it be lovely to be cast off on a desert isle ?” 

They sat on the bank casting stones till the sun was 
high overhead in the heavens. Marjorie saw it. 

“Oh, Uncle Alfred! And we were going to have 
strawberry shortcake for dinner, too,” Marjorie com- 
miserated. “What would you ever do if we missed 
it ! Let’s hurry !” She grabbed up her hat. “Mother 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 5 7 

makes lovely shortcakes, four tiers high. Are you 
especially fond of shortcakes ?” 

"Yes, very/’ 

“So am I. Have you got very much appetite, Uncle 
Alfred? I have. It's one of the principal things 
about me. I wish I hadn’t. It’s terribly mortifying; 
and it isn’t convenient, especially when you have to 
wear left-overs. My bands are always too tight.” 
They took hold of hands going back. Marjorie pointed 
out the pickle % factory, the stove works, and the wagon 
shops. “Now, if anybody asks you, you’ve seen them, 
you know. Jane will be sure to ask you if you saw 
the Art Museum. She has a piece of fancy work in 
it. You can take my word for it, it’s lovely. And 
father will ask you if you saw the new Masonic 
temple and what you thought of the mahogany pulpit. 
Mother will want to know if you liked the soldier’s 
monument the Woman’s Society donated to the public 
square. So now you can’t say you’re not warned. 
Anyhow, the dam was worth it, wasn’t it?” 

“Indeed it was.” 

They passed the flour mills, the sash and door 
factory, then they turned into Market Street. Uncle 
Alfred felt in his pockets. “I don’t believe it would 
pay to go home empty handed. There’s Dick. He’s 
got a sweet tooth. Guess I had better stock up again.” 
He paused in front of a grocery store. “A little 
candy and peanuts,” he suggested. “I don’t have the 


58 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


privilege of winning this sort of favor every day.” 
Marjorie waited for him outside. 

A few dejected and helpless hens panted in a crate 
by the door. Marjorie leaned over them commisera- 
tingly. 

“Oh, you poor things!” she lamented. “You’re 
wretched, I know you are, and there isn’t but one 
end to it. Oh, it must be dreadful to languish in that 
horrible crate awaiting your doom. If there was a 
thing I could do; but there isn’t as I see. You’re hot, 
and you’re hungry, and you’re choking beforehand, 
to say nothing of the anxiety you are enduring, not 
knowing which will go first. It seems to me if they’re 
bound to kill you they might make your last hours as 
comfortable as possible. The idea of sticking you 
right out here in this red-hot sun ! I suppose they 
want you to advertise yourselves, — as though it was 
a very pleasant thing to encourage your own latter 
end. I’d bring a drop of water to cool your parched 
tongues if — ” 

Marjorie looked anxiously up and down the alley. 
Oh, there was ! An empty tin can ! She ran for it. 

\ ‘Til be back in a minute,” she promised, bending pity- 
ingly to peer in upon the four unhappy victims. The 
hydrant was a half a block away. She hurried from 
it, splashing water all over her dress front, in her 
earnestness to relieve suffering. “Oh, you poor for- 
lorn creatures ! Well, anyhow, this will help some.” 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 59 

Inside she could hear Uncle Alfred talking to the 
groceryman. She tried all the slats for a loose one, 
but there was none. In desperation she grabbed up 
a stick and pried one off boldly. Then she stooped to 
pick up the can. There was an excited flop, a tri- 
umphant squawk, and Marjorie caught a flutter of 
gray dominique feathers over her head. She made a 
grab for it but while she did so it was repeated, once* 
twice. Three old hens had a new lease of life and 
liberty. 

They sped along the street with loud and excited 
squawks, pursued by Marjorie. Through an alley, 
in behind the dye works, out again into the street, on 
they went. Marjorie’s hat blew out behind to the full 
length of its rubber band. Her hair escaped finally 
from Jane’s fine pink bows, and tossed out in riotous 
freedom. 

Uncle Alfred came out to the door in time to catch 
a glimpse of speeding pink chambray, and, not know- 
ing what the trouble was, took after it. Around the 
livery barn, through some one’s clothes yard, under 
the bake-shop steps. The portly baker in his white 
apron, very red in the face at being disturbed, came 
to the door to see what the trouble was, and shook his 
fist at the little tan dog that ran between his feet, 
barking wildly. On and on, past the blacksmith shop, 
past the laundry, past the soap works, on through 
Chestnut Street into the avenue. 


6o 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


Fine ladies came to their doors astonished to see a 
little girl, red and breathless, panting along, followed 
by a dignified old man with white whiskers and flying 
black cravat. Once she almost had them cornered in 
a lovely summerhouse but they tore through the vines 
and got away. Through somebody’s bed of choice 
lilies, over a lovely lawn, -on out where the houses 
grew scarce and where there were fewer people to 
watch their flight. 

At last the tired hens flew into a friendly barnyard, 
where a dozen or more other fowls set up a wild 
chorus of welcome. Marjorie sank gasping and per- 
spiring on a rock by the roadside. It was a dear little 
white house with green blinds and posies in the door- 
yard. There was a barn — a red one — and a little 
granary at one side, bulging with yellow corn. Uncle 
Alfred came up and regarded her anxiously. 

“What was it child? What ails you? What were 
you after?” For answer Marjorie pointed to the three 
hens, now flown to the top of the hayrack and viewing 
their surroundings with evident satisfaction. 

“I was so afraid somebody would c-catch them,” 
she panted. “If they had, they would have taken them 
back to that horrid man. I — I didn’t know where I 
was driving them to, but I was bound to keep on till 
they were safe, anyway. It’s a lovely place, isn’t it?” 
She pointed to the tiny farmhouse. “They’ll be happy 
here for a while longer. Think how terrible to be 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 61 


shut in a crate awaiting your doom !" Her hand crept 
into Uncle Alfred's as she told the story. “I don't 
suppose these people will mind having three hens 
more, do you ? And it must be a terrible relief to the 
hens. Supposing you were shut in a box waiting for 
some one to take a notion to you, without a thing in 
the world to eat or drink either, and knew that it was 
only a question of hours till your head would be put 
on a horrid block or maybe wrung! Wouldn't you 
be glad to get to a lovely, lovely place like this ? Are 
hens worth so very, very much, Uncle Alfred ?" She 
questioned seriously. 

“Oh, I don't know! About thirty cents, I guess." 

“And three hens at thirty cents would be ninety 
cents. Can you lend me ninety cents, Uncle Alfred? 
I suppose the groceryman has to be considered." 

“Yes, I suppose so, seeing he has the first right." 

“I don't know whether he has or not. It seems to 
me the hens ought to have; but I'll settle with him. 
I’ll have some money Christmas, anyhow. Do you 
think you could trust me for ninety cents till Christ- 
mas? Hear them cackle? Aren't they glad? Isn't 
it worth it? Think, Uncle Alfred, all that happiness 
for only ninety cents!" 

“It certainly does seem like a good bargain, doesn't 
it?" Uncle Alfred smiled encouragingly into the 
eager, happy face. 


62 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“You know you spoke about a ring.” She grew 
serious again. “Would a ring cost ninety cents?” 

“Yes, I guess it would cost more than that.” 

“Then please buy the hens for me, Td much rather 
have them than a ring. And how much more do you 
s’pose it would cost, Uncle Alfred, as— as much as 
thirty cents?” 

“I shouldn’t much wonder if it would,” he reckoned 
meditatively. “Why?” 

“Oh, Uncle Alfred! because there’s another one. 
One lone hen that didn’t get away — and if I hadn’t 
put the slat back she might have escaped, too. That 
thought will haunt me all the days of my life. Think 
of the awfulness of being one lone hen! No chance 
of its being the other fellow. If anybody comes think- 
ing pot-pie, why she’ll have to be in it, that’s all there 
is of it. Just one poor, dejected hen in a crate ! Think 
of it, Uncle Alfred! Think of it! Do you suppose I 
will ever be able to sleep another wink as long as I 
live — ever? If you’re sure the ring will cost as much 
as thirty cents over — oh, if I could only have her, too, 
I should be perfectly, perfectly happy ! She might lay 
eggs, too, mightn’t she? Hens usually do. Oh, it 
would be perfectly lovely to have a hen that laid eggs. 
It would be such a help to mother,” she added to her 
argument. Her cheek was against Uncle Alfred’s 
sleeve. Her hand tightened around one of his big, 
strong fingers. He gathered it in tenderly. 


SHOWS UNCLE ALFRED THE TOWN 63 

“Supposing we buy the ring and the hens, too !” he 
said softly. “And hadn’t we better hurry? The gro- 
ceryman may have gone for the sheriff or — or some 
one may have taken a notion to her. Let us fly to the 
rescue.” 

“Good-bye, old hens. I hope you will be very 
happy,” Marjorie called over her shoulder as they ran. 

“Such a fuss about von chicken.” The groceryman 
laughed as he stood in the door and watched them 
bearing the rescued hen away. “She was nothing but 
an o I’ hen — tough — tough.” He jingled a handful of 
silver satisfiedly. “What vas hens made for if not to 
eat, I like to know?” he questioned blankly. “She 
vas von queer little girl. She vas that — von queer 
little girl sure.” He went to his counters with a 
puzzled face. 


CHAPTER V 


PREPARING FOR THE BAZAAR 

“If I couldn’t do a thing right I’d save my breath to cool my 
porridge.” 

“There! Tve gone and done it !” Marjorie got up 
from the sewing-room floor, scattering scraps of cot- 
ton and wool in a gay-colored storm. “Both sleeves 
for one arm, and not another scrap of cloth! No, 
there isn’t any use of looking at it. It’s done and 
that’s all there is of it. Give it here, Jane Ann Moxie ! 
Leave me alone! Don’t I know it’s ruined? Yes, it 
is pieces of mother’s silk dress. Now, I suppose you 
feel better, Miss Pick and Pry. She gave ’em to me 
her own self, so I guess you don’t need to say any- 
thing.” 

“She might have known you’d waste them!” Jane 
retorted bitterly. “I needed them to finish my quilt.” 

“You need everything for something. I don’t see 
why you don’t take the whole rag bag and done with 
it. I would if I were you. And as for wasting things, 
I don’t waste any more’n you do, so there, if you are 
so smart! Didn’t you spoil the candy and waste a 
whole cup of sugar just yesterday, and didn’t you 
waste all mother’s black saxony trying to crochet Dick 
a muffler that wouldn’t go around within a mile? Did 
64 


PREPARING FOR THE BAZAAR 65 

I ever waste so much in all my life, Jane Ann Moxie? 
Answer me that! You know I didn't. But the least 
little thing I do is a terrible suz. Just as if everybody 
didn't make mistakes." 

Marjorie turned the garment over and over anx- 
iously. “There doesn't seem to be any way out of it," 
she remarked glumly. Things were indeed hopeless 
when Marjorie could not find a way out. “I suppose 
I might make elbow sleeves, though they will be ter- 
ribly unbecoming. Something seems to ail her." 

She grabbed up the particular doll in question. 
“She looks as though she had the smallpox. I suppose 
we might call it freckles, though it seems to me pink 
freckles are rather unique. Perhaps she is broke out 
with the heat; in that case elbow sleeves will be cool. 
Did you ever see such skinny arms? They are posi- 
tively weazened. Full sleeves might have covered 
that up. Never hope, my dear, that any one will write 
sonnets to your dimpled elbows. If all other aspira- 
tions of life fail you, you can perhaps earn a respect- 
able living posing for the Cuticura Soap Company. 

“Did you ever hear of green sleeves in a blue dress, 
Jane? This green matches the polka dots." She held 
up a scrap to get the effect. “It's bound to look a 
fright. I don't know as it matters much. This horrid 
old needle hasn't got any point anyhow. I'd like to 
know who could do anything with a needle like that !" 
She broke the tangled thread from it impatiently. 


66 MARJORIE MOXIE 

“Jane Moxie, you’ve got the only decent needle 
there is.” 

Jane had gone quietly back to the sofa and resumed 
the making of pincushions. 

“This is the one I’ve had all the week. I always 
keep my needle in the case where it belongs. You’d 
save time and temper, Marjorie, if you were a little 
more particular where you put your needle.” 

Marjorie rummaged excitedly through the ma- 
chine drawer. “I thought ’twas in mother’s workbox, 
but ’tisn’t and ’tisn’t here. It isn’t anywhere as I see. 
Jane Ann Moxie, if you know where ’tis why don’t 
you say so? I’d like to see you sew with a needle 
without any point.” 

“You might look in mother’s splint basket,” said 
Jane. “She had that down to the sewing circle yes- 
terday. She might have taken the needles with her.” 

Marjorie continued to rummage till she dug them 
out, leaving the basket upset beneath the sewing 
table. “Yesterday one front of the Japanese doll’s 
kimono was wrong side out, and to-day it’s a sleeve. 
I’d like to know what it’ll be to-morrow! Probablv 
I’ll get the sailor boy’s breeches legs mixed up with 
my leg-o’-mutton sleeve pattern. I’m bound to cut 
some dido. I don’t see why I didn’t take pincushions 
or something easy — I always have the hardest things 
to do.” 

“You had your choice, though,” remarked Jane with 


PREPARING FOR TEIE BAZAAR 67 


dignified calm. “You know Belinda Barks wanted 
the dolls.” 

“Yes, butt Belinda can't dress dolls. You know she 
can’t. They would have looked like a fright. You 
know I have to do it for all the girls. Didn’t she come 
over here just the other day for me to fix her gathers? 
There wasn’t another one could have done dolls fit for 
a bazaar.” 

“Oh, I don’t know — perhaps — if the rag bag held 
out.” Jane could not resist the temptation for so fine 
a bit of sarcasm. 

“Oh, you don’t need to preach, Missy; you got one 
side of your plush heart cushion wrong side out and 
I’ve got the half you threw away. I’m going to make 
my winter doll a tarn out of it.” Marjorie dug it out 
tauntingly. “As long as I did things myself I 
wouldn’t talk to other folks.” She gathered her scraps 
together excitedly. “It isn’t as if I looked for any 
sympathy from you; I didn’t. Just as if it wasn’t 
enough to be always getting something wrong and 
having to do things over without being preached at 
and having to see how awfully good some one else is. 
I don’t care!” Marjorie was on the verge of tears. 
“If you knozv of any way I should think you might 
tell.” 

“Why don’t you make a new dress for her and take 
that for one of the others? I am always willing to 
help when my services are appreciated. I thought you 


68 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


wanted me to leave you alone ?” Jane laid down her 
cushion and Marjorie lifted her face from the rag 
bag hopefully. 

“I know where there’s a few scraps of pretty blue 
muslin like I made that dresser scarf of last spring. 
You might have those.” 

“Oh, might I, Jane?” Marjorie was on her feet in 
a moment and had her arms around her sister. 
“You’re such a dear, and your pincushions are lovely, 
I do wish I could do something like that ; but of course 
I never shall. I shall always have to do silly, child- 
ish things like dolls, and shall always botch them and 
get them wrong. Oh, whatever do you think ails me, 
Jane? Do you think I could be fixed? If I live, say 
to be as old as Methuselah, do you think I will out- 
grow any of it? I should like to be nice and patient 
and sensible, but I suppose two in a family would be 
asking too much. When I watch you picking out 
knots it seems almost like a — a miracle. I know then 
that I shall never, never be like you. When I get a 
knot in my thread something inside me seems to fly 
in pieces. My thread is always knotting, but I never 
yet have picked one out. Do you ever feel things 
break inside you, Jane? 

“I’ll make the blue muslin with a beautiful shirred 
yoke and a skirt to match, and trim it with this little 
edging I ripped off of my dimity apron. It wasn’t 
any good anyhow, for I had torn the bertha most off 


PREPARING FOR THE BAZAAR 69 

and the apron part was all stained with berries. Oh, 
you are so good, Jane, to give up the blue muslin when 
you might have made it into a quilt or something, 
mightn’t you? And I’ll never, never tell a word about 
the plush heart, — not to a soul, — cross my heart and 
hope to die, — and do you mind if I have it to make a 
plush tarn of, it’s such a pretty red and will make 
a beauty? I don’t care, I’m glad I didn’t let Belinda 
Barks have ’em. Isn’t the little Japanese doll a 
treasure, if part of her kimono is wrong side out? 
You wouldn’t notice it now a little ways off, would 
you? — and the lovely twist I got on her hair more 
than makes up for it. 

“That little golden-haired one over there is going 
to be a bride, and I have the scraps of mother’s net 
curtains to make a veil. Jane, do you think mother 
would care if I cut up my brown leggings to make that 
dear little black-haired doll an Indian skirt, fringed 
all round? I have a piece of father’s old felt hat to 
make her a sombrero, and I ripped the Indian beads 
off my old moccasin slippers. I mean to braid her 
hair in two long braids and let them hang down over 
her shoulders. 

“At the bazaar I am going to be an Italian girl, 
dressed in red and green with a striped scarf tied 
round my head, and I have ten different strings of 
beads gathered up already, blue ones and yellow ones, 
and a lovely red string that Hattie Mintey lent me. 


70 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


I’m going to wear them round my neck and on my 
arms and every place, and mother has promised me 
her ruby bracelets. I shall sell fruit and tissue-paper 
flowers. Nellie Coot is making the flowers. Do you 
think I ought to stain my face and hands, Jane? I 
can paint my cheeks and lips with squawberry juice. 
Dick and I know where plenty of it grows down by 
the river.” 

“But I wouldn’t/’ admonished Jane. “It might 
poison you; besides, it wouldn’t be proper.” 

“But it would be natural. You know yourself the 
Italians are high colored. I would rather look natural 
than to be proper. If I set out to be a thing I’ll be it, 
I don’t care if it does take paint and putty. If I 
couldn’t do a thing right, Jane Moxie, I’d save my 
breath to cool my porridge. Do you s’pose if I knew 
it wasn’t right myself I could make other folks believe 
it was ? In order to- pretend anything -you’ve got to 
just as good as be it. I don’t like things that a body 
has to look up in the catalog before they know what 
it means.” 

“I shall be dressed as a Puritan maid and wear 
mother’s gray challie, with a white silk fichu folded 
about my neck. I tjiink it will be very becoming,” 
Jane remarked. 

“And a little white turned-back cap, and carry a 
Bible just like the picture in our old Barnes History,” 
finished Marjorie. “ — And oh, Jane! carry Grand- 


PREPARING FOR THE BAZAAR 71 


mother Knight’s old-fashioned brocaded reticule, and 
wear those dear linen cuffs in mother’s celluloid box 
— yes, and mother’s embroidered apron that Aunt 
Grace gave her! Do , Jane! You are going to sell 
Bibles, aren’t you — and those queer little ear muffs 
.'Lucinda Mugg makes? You will carry your knitting 
in your reticule and when trade is dull you can knit. 
That will be living up to the part. It doesn’t matter 
what part one has as long as one does it well. 

“I mean to sew little bells to my sleeves and carry 
Dick’s tambourine. My booth is going to be all dec- 
orated in red and green tissue-paper garlands and 
paper lanterns, and I shall say, ‘banano, banano, 
twenty cent a dozena,’ every time any one comes past. 
I will pass my tambourine out for the change, wouldn’t 
you, Jane? Oh, I wish I had an old hand organ and a 
monkey. Wouldn’t that be fine? The monkey could 
sit on the counter and pass his red cap and when trade 
was dull I could turn the crank. Oh, 1 do wish I had 
a hand organ and a monkey.” 

In the excitement of so new and striking an idea 
Marjorie got up and stepped on the India-rubber doll, 
that was waiting her tea-matting petticoat and hat 
and one of Jane’s battenberg rings in her poor little 
rubber nose to transform her into a Hawaiian prin- 
cess. She emitted a gasping squawk; but Marjorie, 
standing in the middle of the floor clapping her hands 


72 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


and gesticulating, wildly, neither saw nor heard. It 
was such a very novel and unexpected idea. 

Suddenly she became still, her ears pricked into 
keenest activity. A faint melody seemed permeating 
the air. It came through the open window. Marjorie 
ran and pushed away the white curtain and leaned far 
out. A long ways off — several blocks, perhaps — it 
was — surely. Gradually the melody evolved itself into 
a tune. Marjorie crossed the room in three bounds 
and literally fell down stairs. It was as though 
unseen powers had provided an answer to her un- 
voiced petition. At the bottom she encountered Dick. 
Her jumbled exclamations expressed nothing to his 
unsuspecting intelligence. 

She grabbed a hat off the hall rack and ran madly 
with it in her hand, her hair streaming wildly in her 
wake. One corner, two corners, and at the third she 
spied them — a man, a little black smiling man, an 
ideal Dago man in baggy clothes and old slouch hat, 
a red bandana knotted under his chin — and a monkey, 
whining and making faces and turning somersaults 
on the hard board walk. Yes, and he wore a jacket 
and red cap just as Marjorie had hoped that he would. 
Never was there a cuter, dearer little monkey, or a 
nicer, more genuine old Dago man. Marjorie could 
have embraced them in her rapture. She joined them, 
panting and out of breath. They were just finishing 
up “Annie Rooney,” and the children were loud in 


PREPARING FOR THE BAZAAR . 73 

their applause. Marjorie pushed into their midst. 
She even got hold of the Dago's sleeve. 

“Oh, Mister, I want to borrow your organ and the 
monkey," she entreated, pulling at her hat that the 
wind had nearly torn away. “It's a perfectly dear 
old organ and wheezes beautifully. Oh, I was just 
wanting one when I heard you. Isn't it funny that 
I was just wanting one?" 

The Italian man did not seem to think that it was 
funny. Her hold of his sleeve when he was just be- 
ginning on “The Good Old Summer Time" was an- 
noying. He shook his arm to be free of her. He 
shook his head also; but Marjorie persisted. 

“Oh, it's just for a night, for the bazaar, you know. 
I'm to be an Italian girl. I have a tambourine. My 
booth will be the very prettiest, all strung with tissue 
paper and lanterns, and I've got beads and every- 
thing — if I only had a monkey and an organ. He's 
a perfectly delicious monkey. His little coat and cap 
are so dirty and interesting. Oh, can't I have him 
just for a night? I'll be good to him. I'll feed him 
cracker jack and peanuts and — and everything. Oh, 
do say yes !" But the Italian man showed a mouthful 
of white teeth without seeming to smile much, and 
jabbered off a lingo that Marjorie could not under- 
stand. He had gotten his sleeve loose and was 
moving away up the street. But Marjorie pursued 
him relentlessly. 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


74 ' 

“You know I don’t want him to keep. I only want 
him for a night, and do you suppose I’d hurt a hair of 
his dear little head? — and if it’s the organ you’re 
afraid of, I’ll promise not to grind out a single tune 
if you don’t want me to, no matter how dull trade gets, 
if you’ll only let it set on my counter. I’m going to 
wear a green skirt and the dearest old red jersey that 
was mother’s, and I’ve got ten strings of beads to 
wear round my neck.” She was panting along be- 
side him, trying to keep step, and once more she 
reached up impulsively and caught his sleeve. The 
little monkey, perched high on his master’s shoulder, 
chattered crossly. 

“Betta go home, little girl,” the Italian man said, 
not unkindly, in words that Marjorie understood. 

“But I’m not going home, not till you promise.” 
She stamped her foot vehemently over her inability to 
impress the Italian. “I am the only one who is to 
represent the Italian people. You ought to be proud 
to have them represented right. You wouldn’t want 
to be there and just see that the Italians didn’t amount 
to anything, would you? Of course, if I didn’t just 
slave they wouldn’t. Would a dummy just standing 
up selling fruit and flowers represent the Italians? 
No, of course it wouldn’t — and I’ve worked and made 
flags and strung beads, and made brown paper 
lighters to look like macaroni. If I hadn’t cared, 
would I have done that, say? And you don’t care 


PREPARING FOR THE BAZAAR 75 

enough about being represented to lend your old 
organ and monkey. I wish I was to be a Japanese or 
an Indian or a Fiji Islander — anything but an Italian. 
I didn’t know they were such a — a stubborn race. 
Oh! say, Mister, why won’t you let me take it?” She 
caught him by both hands now and hung on. “If it’s 
money you want — ” A happy thought struck her. 
“ — I’ll pass the hat every time I grind a tune, or the 
monkey shall do it for me, and I’ll save all the money 
for you. I shouldn’t wonder if there’d be five dollars. 
Just think of it — five dollars for lending your old 
organ !” 

At last she had him interested. He looked at her 
quizzically with his sharp little eyes. “Whena you 
wanta?” he asked. He listened in seeming stupidity 
to the deluge of explanations and details she thrust 
upon him — and how the money was to go to pay 
the minister, and how the minister had a baby that 
had fallen in the fire and maybe would never be able 
to walk again; and when she was through he only 
showed his teeth again and said: “Betta go home, 
little girl,” loosening the fingers that clung to his 
sleeve. 

He was turning in at a little rickety gate that led 
to a rickety house, at the end of a rickety walk, 
and Marjorie dared not follow. She sat down on a 
hitching block miserably. She was breathless and 
dusty and miles from home, and it was of no use. She 


;6 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


wasn’t going to have any organ or any monkey. He 
was a mean, mean, mean old Dago man, and she 
didn’t see why she hadn’t chosen to be a greasy Lap- 
lander or a pig-eved Chinaman and done with it! 

She was squelched into a little hopeless heap when 
Dick found her. He had hunted all over and Mother 
Moxie had worried; dinner was ready, and father was 
home. He looked stern, too. Together they ran all 
the way back. 


CHAPTER VI 


A REALISTIC MAKE-BELIEVE 

“You never know what’s hidden down under the crust.” 

The hall was certainly a spectacle, when the event- 
ful night of the bazaar came round. Great folds of 
bunting had been gathered in the center and streamed 
out in knots above the windows — red, white, and blue. 
The chandeliers were massed with garlands and 
streamers of every hue. The booths themselves were 
like so many glittering store fronts — brilliant with 
swinging lanterns and framed with boughs of fra- 
grant cedar and hemlock. Just to the right of the 
door stood the Indian tepee, the flaps tied back to 
disclose an old squaw squatting among her wares — 
odd little baskets and bead work, curious shells 
marked “souvenir,” and all sorts of burnt leather 
goods, some of them colored in truly Indian fashion, 
the crowning triumph, a rack of peace pipes decorated 
each with an enormous pompon to which half the 
roosters in Northrum had donated a feather. 

Next came the smiling Japanese lady under her 
swinging parasols, showing a mouthful of pearly teeth 
every time you stopped to admire her wares, peeping 
slyly into the bit of a mirror behind her booth, every 


77 


78 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


time you weren’t looking, to arrange her yellow 
flowered kimono or tuck the rose into her high 
coiffure. She would show you her dainty embroid- 
eries with the coyest air, tilting her bird-like head to 
one side and hiding behind her painted fan, or she 
would sell you a raffia mat or a sweet-grass box, and 
she had the dearest little kimono sacks that went like 
hot cakes. If you were thirsty she would steep you a 
cup of fragrant tea in her love of a teapot, swinging 
over its mite of a blue flame. You passed on reluc- 
tantly to the little Dutch fraulein in her wooden shoes 
and short bodice, her plaited yellow hair hanging 
down from her blue Dutch bonnet, and her heavy 
linsey petticoat tucked up on her hips. She was dis- 
playing proudly a stack of good substantial gingham 
aprons and sensible socks and wrist bands — dear little 
stocking caps too, crocheted of bright-colored Ger- 
mantown zephyrs. A platter of plump little patties 
of Dutch cheese sat temptingly near, and a platter of 
steaming frankfurters, either of which you might buy 
two for a nickel, and you might sit on the three-legged 
stool before her booth and eat them. 

Puritan Priscilla, meek in her gray gown, rose from 
her spinning wheel to show you her hemstitched ker- 
chiefs and the dear little book markers each with an 
appropriate quotation of Scripture done in silk, or to 
sell you a turkey-wing duster, souvenir of that first 
Thanksgiving. She had good linen crash towels for 


A REALISTIC MAKE-BELIEVE 


79 


sale, each finished with a little brass ring in the corner 
to hang them up, and handmade pillow slips and fine 
linen aprons, and she would sell you, if you wished, a 
delicious drink of cool milk out of the dearest of old 
blue mugs. 

You laughed when you came to the queer little Jew, 
bent over with his burden of shoestrings and innum- 
erable small stufif — needles and pins, cheap jewelry, 
and lead pencils. His shrill little cry of “Sheep, 
sheep! Sella you sheep,” turned the crowd in his 
direction, and fattened his small pockets with nickels 
and dimes. Now and then he set down the crate to 
hitch up Father Moxie’s striped cassimere trousers 
that were many times rolled over at the bottom and 
still too large, or to adjust the flat little derby 
that seemed about to swallow him up entirely. This 
he did by balancing it upon his ears, a process that 
bent him double with responsibility. A faded old clay- 
worsted swallowtail, and an old-fashioned celluloid 
collar and flaming red tie completed his outfit, and 
created the Jew. 

A sweet-faced nurse girl in blue striped gingham 
and white cap, with prim white cufifs turned back from 
her wrists, had charge of all the dolls, and some of 
them were tucked in downy beds, and had to be taken 
up and dressed* before they could go with their new 
mammas. Their little white nighties were done up in 
tiny parcels to be carried away with them. Some 


8o 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


were already waiting in full street costume, gor- 
geously gowned in the latest fads of fashion, some 
in eiderdown opera capes resplendent with furbelows, 
some in full decollete ready for a ball. One very 
dainty miss in blue muslin and lace, swung leisurely 
in a miniature hammock suspended between the 
booth props. 

The Japanese doll stretched at ease upon a tiny 
raffia mat, slyly concealing any deficiencies in the cut 
of her kimono. The soldier boy posed jauntily on the 
deck of a paper ship, a coil of rope swung over his 
arm. The Spanish sehorita peeped shyly over her 
crepe-paper fan, as she sat on an imaginary piazza 
in her lace mantilla and flirted with passers-by. The 
Hawaiian princess in her tea-matting petticoat stood 
boldly up and faced the crowd with a serpent tattooed 
upon her rubber breast. The patient little nurse girl 
brought them all out and showed them off upon 
request, and wound up their springs when they run 
down, and pinched those that only talked upon protest, 
and explained the virtues of their various sorts of 
joints, ball and socket or plain hinge, the desirability 
of soft heads or hard heads, and the lilxury of “real 
hair.” 

Next you came to the squat little negro cabin with 
its make-believe fireplace in the rear where a black 
pot swung suspended from crossed sticks and where 
bits of red tissue paper with a lamp behind them 


A REALISTIC MAKE-BELIEVE 


81 


looked for all the world like red fire. Mammy Chloe 
in her polka-dot calico with a red bandana turban 
knotted over her head, her face every bit as black as 
the pot, puttered about, bringing you out her queer 
little yarn lamp mats and holders, and the gorgeous 
paper throws that she explained were to put over your 
pictures or maybe over your dresser. The little cabin 
was dim and she showed you about with a sputtering 
tallow candle that she stopped every little while to 
“snuff.” If you could stay long enough she would 
tell you a story of “ha’nts” or of queer “happenin’s” 
that occurred long ago. Over on the little red-clothed 
stand in the corner was a platter of delicious parched 
corn crisps and a pot of honey that she urged all of 
her customers to sample. 

A youthful bootblack had set up business on the 
corner and his cheerful call of “Shine, Mister?” 
detained many a passer-by. 

And at the end of the long row the Italian people 
were being represented. Everything bright and dec- 
orative had been pressed into the service — Mother 
Moxie’s china vases flaunting great bouquets of paper 
roses, a great many dear little plaster images that 
Marjorie had collected from her friends, and in the 
center a picture of the Madonna, draped with one of 
Mammy Chloe’s most gorgeous scarfs, and topped by 
a huge cross of paper carnations. Festoons and 
streamers and garlands hung from the ceiling and 


8 2 


MARJORIE M0X1E 


draped the walls. Baskets of flowers sat on the 
counter, lilies and pansies and enormous bunches of 
carnations and roses tied with ribbon, awaiting 
buyers. All along in front, the counter was spread 
with fruit, piles of deliciously ripe bananas, apples 
polished into rubies, yellow oranges tempting the 
nostrils with a delicious odor, and Mother Moxie’s 
crystal fruit dish full of salted peanuts. 

In the midst stood Marjorie, radiant with Father 
Moxie’s Turkish neck scarf round her head, her brown 
hair falling in a shower from under it, her sunburned 
skin showing a rich olive in its gaudy setting. Neither 
cheek nor lips needed the red juice of the wild squaw- 
berry vine to make them glow crimson under the giddy 
dancing lanterns. Dick’s tambourine was tied to her 
waist with a knot of silken cord. Big brass rings 
were pinched stingingly into her ears, but she did not 
mind. She was carried away with the exaltation of 
the moment. Now and then she lifted the tambourine 
and beat her elbows and knuckles and forehead with 
a jingling tune. The little bells on her sleeves chimed 
in merrily and Mother Moxie’s bracelets flashed their 
rubies in sparkling crimson, and how the ten strings 
of beads did glisten and glow with color! Her slim 
brown fingers were loaded with cheap rings and the 
whole front of the red jersey was decorated with 
badges and medals and odd showy buttons, yes, and 


A REALISTIC MAKE-BELIEVE 83 

the biggest, reddest red rose with a grass-green calyx 
and stem. 

People crowded around at Marjorie’s clarion call 
of “Banano, banano, twenta cent a doz!” Her red 
lips parted in a beaming smile for each and every 
customer. She had not been able to secure the hand 
organ and monkey, but she had tramped to Upper 
Northrum to borrow old Mrs. Gilbert’s parrot. 
He sat now, huddled wisely on his perch over Mar- 
jorie’s head, blinking his eyes mysteriously at the 
bobbing red lanterns. Sometimes he got up anxiously 
and hopped the length of his cage, calling out a gut- 
teral disapproval. 

When trade became dull Marjorie held out a queer 
little red heart box with the invitation to dip into its 
mysteries. “Only five cents for your fortune, Mister! 
Come take one and find out if you are to marry a rich 
lady! All anxieties of the future settled here for 
five cents ! Why pine an old maid when five cents 
will get you a rich husband? Dukes, lords, and mil- 
lionaires all for five cents! Take one and go home 
happy! A fortune for five cents! Who will buy? 
Who will buy?” 

The swinging lanterns cast dizzy red and green 
reflections into the girl’s glowing, upturned face, and 
each gaudy ornament turned into a glistening gem. 
Already the crowd was loaded with fruit and flowers 
but her ringing voice brought them back, “Banano, 


- 8 4 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


oh, banano!* Who will buy banano? Twenty cent a 
doz ! Banano !” The intoxication of success sent the 
blood pounding into her throat. Oh, if she only could 
have had the deliciously dear little monkey and the 
wheezy old organ ! and even as the thought came she 
looked and they were there, the little black Dago man 
showing his teeth, and the monkey pulling his grimy 
cap and grinning over the counter. Marjorie had 
the door open in a moment and was fairly dragging 
them inside. 

“Oh, you did come, you did , and you’re just the 
finishing touch!” Marjorie stood off to survey them. 
“He’s just the dearest, dirtiest, little monkey, and oh, 
I’m so glad — glad — glad!” She cleared a place for 
the organ and the black little man stood and played 
his tunes over and over again, beginning with “Annie 
Rooney” and on down to “Home Sweet Home.” 

The crowd thickened as if by magic. Little children 
clinging to older hands tugged madly to be nearer. 
Childish hands and feet clapped their enthusiasm. 
Marjorie sold fruit and dispensed fortunes and smiled 
beamingly, sometimes joining in with the tambourine, 
till the little booth seemed well nigh stripped of its 
treasures, and the brown cigar box under the counter 
was heavy with spoils. 

There was no question now about the Italian’s 
smiling when he showed his teeth. His beady black 
eyes twinkled with delight. The jaunty monkey 


A REALISTIC MAKE-BELIEVE 85 


pranced along the counter passing his master's hat, 
and when it grew too heavy for his little hands the 
Dago man emptied the contents into his own pockets. 
A good many times it had to be emptied before the 
evening was over, and each time the smile grew 
broader and deeper. 

At last the people were going home. The wheezy 
old organ had grown choked and spasmodic and the 
little children had gone to sleep listening to its jing- 
ling tunes and would have to be carried home. Mother 
and Father Moxie had come for Marjorie, and the 
little old Dago man had shut up his box and taken the 
monkey on his shoulder. He looked wistfully about 
the gaudy booth and then at Marjorie. 

“Homeseek," he explained, drawing a grimy sleeve 
across his face. “Far away is ze land, you know — 
bright, always bright ! Blue sky and all over ze green 
and ze flowers. You know." He sought their faces 
hungrily. “Oh, no," he shook his head. “So far 
away." 

He turned to Marjorie's mother, “She mek believe 
Italian ver' good. I have a little girl at home same- 
bright face, bright hair — so. Ze bead — ■" he reached 
and touched some at Marjorie's throat — “same like 
she wore — blue. I carry some on my heart — so. 
Long, long year I carry him — me. Till one day him 
stole. Now me have not’ing. It make me weep. 
Come, Pipo !" He reached up and stroked the monkey. 


86 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Now we go again into foreign land.” At the booth 
door he turned. “I forget fne.” He reached into his 
pockets and drew out all the clinking coins, heaping 
them into Marjorie’s tambourine. “For ze babee, you 
know, ze little seek babee !” and then he was gone, the 
little monkey waving his cap in a wistful farewell. 

For a moment Marjorie stood stupefied over the sud- 
den acquisition of such wealth and struggling with 
an unaccountable lump that had been accumulating 
in her throat, then she threw it all upon the counter 
impatiently and sped after the disappearing organ 
grinder, pushing the crowd to right and left and 
loosening the strings of blue beads as she went. 

“Oh, wait, wait,” she cried, thrusting herself upon 
him and hugging his ragged sleeve. “Why did they 
steal them! and, oh, won't you take these? They 
won’t be the same but maybe you can make believe 
they are — and if you ever see the little girl” — Mar- 
jorie’s eyes were overflowing with ready tears — “you 
can give them to her. Oh, who would be mean 
enough to steal blue beads that belonged to somebody’s 
little girl?” For a moment the enormity of the crime 
rendered her speechless. She pressed the blue beads 
into his hand silently. 

“If you would only wear them there — next to your 
heart, don’t you think it would make you feel better? 
And if there’s any of these others that you want” — 
her hand fumbled all the strings at her throat — “take 


A REALISTIC MAKE-BELIEVE 87 


them! It must be awful to live with nothing but just 
a monkey, and I called you a mean old Dago man; 
but you aren’t, you’re good, and oh, I wish you could 
go back and see her, don’t you?” 

“He sat down on the church steps and cried, 
Mother Moxie — a big, dirty man — yes, he did — cried 
and wiped it on his sleeve — and I cried, too, and gave 
him all my beads, and now I shall have to slave to pay 
the girls, but it must be terrible, terrible, to be all 
alone in a strange land with only a monkey that can’t 
talk, and I shall never, never again call any one mean 
till I know what’s on the inside. You never know 
what’s hidden down under the crust. To think that 
I might never have known about the little girl or the 
blue beads, and might have gone right on calling him 
a mean old Dago man. If he wears them all over his 
heart it ought to make him feel some better, don’t 
you think so, Mother Moxie? — and hereafter I shall 
always drop something in the hat when I see an old 
organ grinder, for if it isn’t blue beads it’s something 
else,” she concluded with a philosophy wise beyond 
her years. 


CHAPTER VII 

some of marjorie’s responsibilities 

“Whoever said stray cats hadn’t a mission in life?” 

“Well, what have you got now, Marjorie?” Sister 
Jane, shaking the dust cloth off the front banisters, 
faced her sister coming up the steps. 

“What have you been up to now, Sis?” Dick raced 
in from the lawn inquisitively. “Cooning apples?” 
He made a grab at the lumpy burden wrapped up in 
Marjorie’s apron. Marjorie warded him off savagely. 
She crowded past them into the house and on through 
to the back steps. They followed at her heels. 

“Oh, mother! It’s a baby. I heard it cry,” sug- 
gested Sister Jane. 

“What is it, Marjorie?” Mother Moxie joined the 
curious crowd at the door. 

“Well, if you must all know, it’s kittens — an old 
cat and four kittens, or maybe it’s five. I hope so. 
Is there anything very wonderful about that?” Mar- 
jorie turned to face them desperately. “I’m going to 
take them to the barn and make a nest.” She squared 
herself for a battle. 

“Oh, Marjorie; Five cats!” Mother Moxie’s tones 
sank helplessly. “And we already have three. Where 
did you get them, child?” 


SOME RESPONSIBILITIES 


89 


“Eight cats, and only last week she found the dog.” 
Sister Jane drew near to enjoy the discussion that 
was sure to follow. 

“Eight cats, and a yellow dog, and a frozen-footed 
hen, and a canary that can’t sing,” recounted Dick. 

“Well, -I don’t care! the hen lays eggs just the 
same,” defended Marjorie. “And I couldn’t help 
taking these; you would have done it yourself — so 
there! Oh, you dear little things!” she said, sitting 
down on the cistern and undoing the protesting 
bundle. “Oh, you poor old mother ! How your heart 
must have ached! Only think! They were on the 
edge of being drowned. A miserable boy had them 
in a bag. I had a hard tussle but I was victorious. I 
think I clawed him. Oh, mother, think of being 
dragged to a watery grave!” Her face was full of 
the possible tragedy. “Wouldn’t I have been a brute 
to have stood by and watched that horrid boy go on? 
Wouldn’t I, Mother Moxie? Answer me that! Think 
of being tied in a bag and being drowned !” 

“Well, what do you mean to do with them now?” 
questioned Mother Moxie in a conciliatory tone. 

“Do with them ? Why, I shall keep them, of course. 
What do folks usually do with cats and kittens?” 

“It costs money to keep five cats,” suggested Sister 
Jane disparagingly. 

“Costs ! Costs ! I wouldn’t say such a stingy thing 
as that, Jane Ann Moxie!” Marjorie returned with 


90 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


scorn. “How much do you suppose these little tooth- 
less kittens are going to eat? They can have my cup 
of milk every morning. I don’t care for it anyhow. 
I guess we can afford to keep one more cat.” 

“Kittens will grow,” remarked Dick dryly. 

She cast one withering glance upon him. “I hope 
they will. Dick Moxie, I believe you’d be mean 
enough to drown the innocent little things yourself. 
You look it. Before I’d be a sister to a murderer!” 
she said, as she did the struggling bundle up and fled 
for the barn. “I hope I’ll never live to desert a help- 
less family like this.” She turned to fire a last 
missile. “I’d rather go on one crust a day. I’d go 
in rags first. I wouldn’t be so stingy, so mean — so — .” 
A wave of stormy words swept through the barn door. 

She found a comfortable box and filled it with 
straw, and into this she cajoled the suspicious mother 
and snuggled the four blind kittens. “There, don’t 
you feel better? Isn’t that snug? Just make yourself 
at home. See how soft this straw is, and here’s 
father’s old yarn muffler to top it off with. I mean to 
be very good to you and help you to forget this terrible 
morning. There’ll be my cup of milk to count op, 
and you can have part of my scraps. I give a few of 
them to old Crumple-foot and the rest to the Appetite ; 
but you’ll come in for your third,” she promised, as 
she patted and coaxed them into a state of confidence. 
The old cat began to sing, and the kittens left off 


SOME RESPONSIBILITIES 


9i 

fretting and set about establishing themselves com- 
fortably. 

Marjorie watched the coddling mass with satisfac- 
tion. “Oh, you little dears ! I’m so glad that I saved 
you. You will live to be lovely, lovely cats, and never 
catch any mice, then I shall love you,” she advised 
them. “You must promise never, never to catch 
dear little birds when you grow up. It’s the only 
thing I have against cats. You know yourself it is 
wicked and heathenish. If you come in some day with 
a poor little mangled robin I shall never forgive you 
— no, not even a little brown sparrow, for a sparrow 
has feelings just the same, if there is a bounty on its 
head. Do you hear me, you four blind pussy cats? 
And if you are ever caught torturing a poor, helpless 
mouse, listening unmoved to its pitiful squeals, I shall 
live to wish I had never interfered with your untimely 
death.” 

She heard Dick on the ladder. His head appeared 
through the hole. She drew out the prettiest one of 
the four and held it up for approval. “Oh, Dick! 
Isn’t it a perfectly lovely darling? See its little white 
shoes and stockings, and he has a white shirt front, 
too* Oh, Dick!” ^ . 

Dick came over carelessly and dropped down by the 
box. “Well, they are a mixed lot, all right,” he re- 
marked condescendingly, as she singled out the plain 
gray from the black and white, the gray and white, 


9 2 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


and the yellow and white. “No need of naming them. 
You’ll be able to tell them apart, all right. They’re 
a mongrel lot.” 

“I have them named already,” confided Marjorie. 
“The old cat is Catastrophe — though, thanks to me, 
she has avoided it. Just think what a catastrophe it 
would have been for this poor soul if I had not ap- 
peared on the scene in the nick of time ! Don’t it send 
a creep up your back, Dick Moxie? Of course it does, 
and you needn’t pretend you don’t feel. You’re 
chicken-hearted yourself, and I’m proud of you for it. 
The old cat is Catastrophe, of course, for this probably 
hasn’t been her first experience. The young ones I 
have given cheerful names, for, after all, there’s a lot 
in a name. Now, for instance, if I had been given a 
plain, neat name like Jane, or if you had been called 
Zedadiah. These kittens were probably born under 
very distressing circumstances, with depressing sur- 
roundings — an old ash barrel, no doubt, or an aban- 
doned coal bin; though, thank goodness, they haven’t 
had eyes so far. Their names must therefore be 
cheerful to counteract the effect as far as possible 
upon their young spirits.” 

. “Spirits!” sniffed Dick contemptuously. “Look at 
the little, squirming things! They’re eating their 
mother up.” 

“This little black and white one I have named Con- 
solation. That will please its mother. Hasn’t it a 


SOME RESPONSIBILITIES 


93 


cute little white tip on its tail? This demure gray 
one shall be called Merriment, because if anything 
ever needed a gay name it’s this kitten. Think of 
being all gray, and no way to change it ! But I sup- 
pose its eyes will break up the monotony when they 
come, if they ever do. This yellow and white shall 
be Nugget of Gold, which will insure its worth. I 
think Nugget of Gold is a very fine name, don't you, 
Dick? I should like a horse by that name." 

“Why not Goldie or Goldenhair?" suggested Dick, 
thoughtfully. 

“Well, Goldie is pretty and so is Goldenhair," 
agreed Marjorie, anxious to be considerate of Dick's 
opinions, “but you see I couldn't have that name — sup- 
posing it should turn out to be a boy. You have to 
think of those things. You see it is a very particular 
job naming young kittens. Now, I would have named 
this little gray and white one Dottie Dimple if the 
gender wasn't so uncertain. It's much safer to choose 
neuter where one don't exactly know. So I have 
chosen the name of Frolic, and I hope he will live up 
to it." 

“They're a mess of little beasts," Dick declared, as 
he watched them rooting hungrily for the best place. 
“I can't see anything pretty in kittens till they’re 
blossomed out more than these," he said scornfully. 
“I'll reserve my criticism till they're feathered out a 
little at least. Come on down, Sis, and quit snuzzling 


94 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


those cats. I’m fixing my stilts for a race with you, 
Miss.” He slid down through the hole with agility, 
and Marjorie with a few final pats slid down behind 
him ; but she shook her head sadly over the stilts. 

“No more play for me, Dick. I’m going at my 
garden this morning,” she said, as she took down 
her hoe decisively. “Do you think it’s too late to save 
it, Dick?” she asked, as they went over the rows of 
tomatoes and cabbages together. “I never meant to 
leave it till it looked like this. How am I going to 
tell which are onions and which are weeds? It looks 
measly, doesn’t it ? Do you suppose it’ll ever come on 
like Jane’s? Don’t you actually believe, Dick, that 
there’s something the matter with this corner of the 
lot? It don’t seem to raise good garden. Look at 
Jane’s peas over there! They’re as green as Ireland. 
What do you s’pose is the reason ? I wish I’d chosen 
peas instead of onions. You have to get down on your 
knees to onions.” 

“Well, that won’t be bad practice for you, Sis,” 
Dick declared irreverently. 

Marjorie hoed with enthusiasm, but seemed to make 
small progress. She made trips to and from the well* 
with the watering pot. “I’ll save them if they are not 
too far gone,” she said. “I guess twenty-five heads 
of cabbage and twenty-five tomato plants and two 
rows of onions will help out some with the family.” 
She leaned on her hoe and sighed. “I know how to 


SOME RESPONSIBILITIES 


95 


pity father now,” she said. “A family is a great 
responsibility, and no mistake. But they're worth 
it. They're a darling lot. Such a cute white spot 
on Consolation's tail!" 

She came in at noon, red from exertion and a muddy 
spot under each knee. “There! No one can say 
I've thrown the burden of the increase on father," 
she said, throwing herself on the ottoman, and get- 
ting mother's hand screen to fan herself. “Whew! 
but it's hot! Well, I’m glad it's done, anyhow, if it 
did take almost a tragedy to get me started. Good- 
ness, but those cabbage plants did look grateful ! And 
the onion family are having a reunion, now that they 
are once more able to find one another. They've 
grown long and spindling trying to look over the 
weeds. My, but I bet the poor things suffered! I 
made your little snively row of peas look sick, Jane 
Ann Moxie." 

“It's to be hoped your enthusiasm will continue," 
returned Sister Jane suggestively. 

“And Dick, too," went on Marjorie, pointing 
through the open door. “He's digging away for dear 
life at his potatoes. Whoever said stray cats hadn't 
a mission in life," she said, as she slipped a juicy piece 
of cold roast beef off the platter set out for the mid- 
day meal, and tucked it away for Mother Catastrophe. 

Father Moxie gave a whistle of surprise when he 
came in sight of the yard. “Well, that looks some- 


96 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


thing like it,” he said. “I guess somebody’s getting 
ambitious around our place.” 

“And it’s high time,” put in Marjorie. “If you 
had the Appetite to look out for — ” 

“What could you expect of a yellow dog?” accused 
Dick. “Just an appetite with hair on it.” 

“It is awful,” confessed Marjorie. “I never knew 
a dog held so much. I wonder if a yellow dog holds 
more than any other color ! I try to keep him as full 
as I can,” she sighed. 

“If you had scoured the country to satisfy the 
Appetite,” she continued to Father Moxie, “and 
suddenly found yourself with a very lean new cat 
and four very lean kittens on your hands, wouldn’t 
you think it was about time something was done? 
I’m willing to work, though,” she agreed, “and you 
can’t deny that it’s a blessing for the garden.” She 
scrutinized Father Moxie keenly through the screen 
to see how he was taking the news. No special dis- 
turbance seemed to agitate his mind. Marjorie took 
hope. 

“It seemed to me three cats were a great suffi- 
ciency,” Jane probed gently, but Father Moxie had 
taken up the morning paper and the suggestion was 
lost. 

And so Catastrophe and her litter stayed on in her 
snug quarters and throve visibly. There was, too, a 
crippled toad under the barn of which neither Dick nor 


SOME RESPONSIBILITIES 


97 


Jane knew anything; and up in the loft was a 
wounded grackle that wicked old Web-toes had one 
morning pounced upon with evil intent; but, thanks 
to Marjorie, it would soon be able to fly again, and 
old Web-toes had been severely reprimanded and 
shut in a box all day. In the crab-apple tree three 
motherless robins looked to Marjorie for succor; but 
she was equal to them all. 

She always commenced with the Appetite; then 
when she had gone the rounds, ministering to all 
her charges, she came back to the Appetite helplessly. 
Her feeble efforts seemed to make no impression 
upon the creature's misery. All in vain she made 
repeated trips to where the howl came from the tool 
shed, and reasoned with it. “You mustn't cry so. 
You’re driving every one distracted," she begged. 
“The neighbors will think I'm starving you to death, 
and you've eaten — you've really eaten everything in 
the house. Why can't you be satisfied?" But the 
Appetite only howled the louder. 

“I know this is a stuffy old place," she sympathized, 
“I know that it's a fine day outside, and that there 
is lovely green grass to roll upon; but you mustn't 
mind. This isn't a nice place, but it's better than 
the pound. Isn't that an awful name — the pound? 
Think of it! And you have my woolly brown coat 
to lie on, and there's a cushion under it, too ; but you 
mustn’t tell. My very own Christmas cushion!" 


9 8 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


But gratitude seemed to be lacking in the Appetite. 
The long, smooth nose went into the air with a 
prolonged howl. 

“Listen!” she begged. “There’s a horrid man 
waiting just around the corner. If I let you out he’s 
apt to get you any minute. Wouldn’t you rather 
stay here in this nice, comfortable shed than have a 
horrid man sling a great noose over your head and 
drag you off to the pound? Answer me that! Dog 
tax is a cruel invention, but you must have patience 
till I think of a way to earn the three dollars. Three 
dollars is a great deal. But there! Poor dear! You 
can’t help that, of course. If I was a man I wouldn’t 
have any trouble finding a way to earn you a per- 
fectly beautiful brass dog tag, would I? But we 
must make the best of it ; you here in your little shed, 
and I out there in the boiling sun, hoeing like mad,” 
she said, with a parting pat. The dog set up a long, 
doleful protestation that made Marjorie wince. “It’s 
of no use,” she said desperately. “You’ve got to 
stand it. Do be still. I don’t know but I might 
better have called you Noise than Appetite. I don’t 
know which there’s the most of you,” she said. 

“The Appetite is losing faith in me,” she mused 
helplessly as she went back to her hoeing. “I don’t 
blame her, poor dear, for haven’t I promised her 
every day, and I’m no nearer the solution than I was 
that awful morning when I snatched her from the 


SOME RESPONSIBILITIES 


99 


cruel clutches of the dog man. Three dollars — ” she 
hoed viciously. And the noise continued, increased 
in volume, rose to yelps of baffled rage, dwindled 
down to a despairing wail, and at last was still. Poor 
Appetite! At last she slept, or at least so Marjorie 
thought. She crept into the shade of the old cherry 
tree to think things over. 

It was nice to be free from Appetite for a while. 
She wondered if it would not have been better to 
have left the poor thing to her fate. There was a 
chance that she might have escaped after all, and 
anyhow, she couldn’t have been much more miserable 
if all that she said was true. And where were the 
three dollars to come from? And then, how she did 
eat! 

“Is the Appetite all right?” asked Father Moxie 
as he came in to supper that night. “I thought I 
saw the dog-catcher around the corner,” he finished, 
but Marjorie was half way to the shed, overcome with 
remorse. Yes, the shed door was open. There were 
the empty dishes, the meatless bones, the despised 
bed; but the Appetite was gone. Dick came out. 
“Father said he saw the dog-catcher on the corner 
and he was chasing a yellow dog.” But Marjorie 
was half a block away, and the front gate was swing- 
ing on its hinges. 

It was the Appetite, of course it was. Marjorie 
never doubted it. And she was to blame. Hadn’t 


100 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


she almost wished not an hour ago that she had left 
the poor creature to her fate, and now she was gone, 
poor thing, already snatched up by the hateful dog-* 
catcher. She ran along the street calling loudly. She 
went up and down all the alleys and peered into back 
yards and dilapidated coal sheds, but she knew it 
was of no use whatever ; still she panted along madly, 
her undone hair flying loose from the confines of her 
lopping garden hat, her eyes overflowing with mater- 
nal anxiety; but she knew it was all over with the 
Appetite, unless — unless she could find three dollars 
for a dog tag; that was just it, and where could she 
ever hope to find so much in one short night? 

She was standing in front of the “Commercial 
Loan and Trust Building,” and her eyes gradually 
spelled out the signs, while her mind was grappling 
with mighty responsibilities. “Money to Loan.” The 
words materialized with a sudden flash. Why, of 
course, here was a place where they had money to 
lend — that was it — that was what the sign read. She 
would work, she would pay it back, she would be will- 
ing to slave to get the money for the poor Appetite, 
who was, no doubt, at this very moment languishing 
in the pound, awaiting the execution of a lawful sen- 
tence. A picture of her probable distress rushed over 
Marjorie’s mind, and she dashed impulsively up the 
steps to confront the smiling men inside. 

“It says on the window that you lend money, and 


SOME RESPONSIBILITIES 


IOI 


if you do 111 take three dollars, please,” she explained 
briefly. Then she went on and told about the Appe- 
tite. “She’s not a very pretty dog,” she finished, 
“but then, she’s not to blame for that, of course, and 
her feelings are probably just as fine as any dog’s; 
anyhow, I’m going to save her, and if you won’t help 
me, somebody else will. I’ll pay it back soon. I’m 
going to work hard to earn the money. Of course, 
I’ll give you my note,” she said, with all earnestness. 
The men were laughing. Marjorie frowned impa- 
tiently. “If you’re going to lend it to me I wish you’d 
hurry up, for the Appetite must be terribly anxious, 
besides, she hasn’t had her supper. If you don’t give 
it to me, I think you’d better go out and take your 
sign off the window, for it says ‘Money to Loan’ 
just as plain as the nose on your face.” 

She turned around to point out the truth of her 
statement, and there, coming up the steps, was 
Father Moxie. He was pale. His face was anxious. 
A new and terrible conviction almost swept her down. 
She rushed upon him in her humiliation and dragged 
him down the steps. “What are you doing here, 
father?” She sought helplessly for his big hand. 

“And what is my daughter doing here?” he ques- 
tioned gently. 

“Oh, father ! I had to have the money ! The poor 
Appetite is in the pound! I must save her. Maybe 
even this minute it is too late. I offered to give my 


102 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


note.” Father Moxie patted the hot little hand that 
had found his. 

“Little Hasty Pudding,” he called her. “The Appe- 
tite is this minute at home, and she has on her neck 
a fine brass collar and a new license tag. I tried to 
tell you, but you were in such haste. You mustn't 
be so impulsive, little daughter,” but the eyes bent 
tenderly above her told Marjorie how he loved her 
for it. “There are some things,” he said, “that you 
might trust to father. And by the way, how is the 
Nugget of Gold coming on?” There was the twinkle 
that Marjorie loved. 

“Oh, they are such dears!” she told him. “They 
have eyes. Oh, father !” She grew serious. A cloud 
passed over her sunny face. “Tell me one thing, 
father!” She peered up at him anxiously. “Were 
you going — did you go to that place to — to — I mean 
on account of the sign? Father, tell me, can we 
afford to — to keep the kittens?” It was out at last, 
and the old-wise little face lifted to Father Moxie’s 
was full of maternal anxiety. “Tell me the truth, 
father! Was it on account of the sign?” 

“You mean to borrow money?” her father cor- 
rected. “No, dear, thank God, there is still plenty 
for us all, and for all the stray dogs and helpless 
kittens my dear little daughter can gather up,” he 
told her. 

“Now I am perfectly happy,” said Marjorie. 


CHAPTER VIII 


STANDING BY FATHER 

“It pays to save one’s reserve forces for really important things.” 

In spite of Father Moxie’s calm denial, Marjorie 
watched him anxiously during the days that fol- 
lowed. It seemed that the lines had deepened in his 
face and once or twice she spoke to him and he did 
not answer. Looking at him across the supper table 
she thought she saw his hand tremble as he lifted his 
cup of tea. It was such a thin hand, with blue veins 
that showed. She wondered she had never noticed 
how thin it was before. For the first time in her life 
she observed what a light eater Father Moxie really 
was. It was an especially good supper too — French- 
fried potatoes and cold ham. And she dearly loved 
French-fried potatoes and didn’t see how any one with 
half an appetite could resist them ; as for the cottage 
custard, pineapple flavored, and covered with lovely 
cream it took Jane a whole hour to whip, she couldn’t 
get enough of that. She had passed up her plate so 
many times she was ashamed to look Mother Moxie 
in the face. But father had scarcely tasted of his and 
only nibbled at his delicious cup cake that was to go 
with it. In vain Marjorie passed him the pickles and 


103 


104 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


the dear little tulip bowl of jelly and urged a second 
biscuit. 

She slipped miserably out of her place and went 
into the sitting room to shake up the cushions in the 
big Morris rocker and to draw the footstool, and 
assure herself that Father Moxie’ s slippers were in 
easy proximity. If he should be going to be sick, 
or — supposing after all the Appetite and five kittens 
had proven the last feather! She reproved herself 
that she had not kept a bite of her cup cake or even 
a little scrap of anything to help along. It was hard 
to remember not to eat things till it was too late. 
What a monster appetite was anyhow, when all one’s 
very best resolutions could be swept away at sight of 
a cup cake and a bowl of cottage custard. And she 
had eaten three biscuits, and ever and ever so many 
French-fried potatoes, and ham. She sighed heavily 
as she rummaged among the newspapers for father’s 
spectacles. There were dark circles underneath his 
eyes, and he looked pale. 

When he came in she adjusted the lamp shade solic- 
itously, and placed the little silver ash tray, polished 
till you could see your face in it, at his right hand; 
then she went out to see if the paper boy wasn’t 
coming. He always enjoyed reading the news with 
his evening cigar. The familiar call was more than a 
block away and she ran to fetch it sooner than wait. 
Father Moxie thanked her with a wan little smile that 


STANDING BY FATHER 


105 

almost broke her heart. She sank down helplessly 
on the footstool and hugged his feet. Oh, he was 
going to be sick — he was , or perhaps he was very 
much “encumbered.” Only last night Marjorie had 
heard him reading aloud about a man who had 
become “encumbered,” and had lost his fine house on 
Elm Street and all his furniture was to be sold. Per- 
haps they would lose their house and then there 
wouldn’t be a shelter for anybody, to say nothing of 
stray dogs and kittens. She wondered where they 
would go to live in case their house should be sold. 
Perhaps they would go to Uncle Alfred’s. She rather 
hoped they might if the worst came to the worst, for 
she felt quite sure that Uncle Alfred would want to 
keep the hen, and perhaps he would 'think favorably 
of the Appetite and Catastrophe with her numerous 
family. Marjorie felt the weight of her influence with 
this one doting relative. The robins would be ready 
to fly in a day or two and so would the purple grackle. 
The crippled toad she decided she would carry in a 
small box lined with batting. Toads were such con- 
venient creatures, never making any remarks,, and 
living very economically on flies. 

She patted Father Moxie’s shoes tenderly, run- 
ning her fingers all round the stitched-on patches. 
Father Moxie wearing patched shoes! Yes, she felt 
quite sure that it was “encumbered” that ailed him. 
And only last week she had stamped her foot and 


io6 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


said things because she couldn’t have a white Sunday 
hat with a bunch of blue forget-me-nots and velvet 
ribbon. And precious father was trying to shield them 
all. He even wanted her to have all the stray dogs 
and cats. Why his clothes were actually threadbare 
and they were terribly shiny along the knees. Pains- 
takingly she smoothed at the wrinkles in his dull 
gray sock tops. Dear, dear father, whom nobody was 
half good enough to, slaving for them all. 

During the entire evening Marjorie hovered about 
trying to do something for his comfort. She brought 
an extra head rest and begged to tie it on* his chair, 
softening a place for his feet with the best pansy 
sofa cushion. Twice she went to the well for fresh 
water, bringing him a drink in ‘Mother Moxie’s one 
cut-glass tumbler that was a present from Aunt Grace 
in the city. When there wasn’t another thing in the 
world she could think of to do, she stood by the head 
of his chair and smoothed his hair. Never before had 
she noticed how thin it was over the temples, or how 
badly it was streaked with gray. Once he folded his 
paper and tucked it down among the cushions, and 
reached up and drew her into his lap; but she broke 
away tempestuously and ran for the kitchen to 
smother a sob in the towel. 

“Queer little chicken,” he called her with a tender 
smile as he resumed his reading. “Little Hasty Pud- 
ding!” It was his favorite name for her. 


STANDING BY FATHER 


107 


That night when all was still she rose and tiptoed 
fearfully through the halls till she stood at her father’s 
door. She pressed her feverish cheek against the cold 
jamb and listened. The sound of regular breathing 
inside seemed to reassure her. She stood long enough 
to convince herself that it would keep on indefinitely, 
then she went back and crept shiveringly in beside 
Jane to sleep. 

In the morning she arose with a determination. 
Whatever the trouble was she was going to stand by 
father. She was not going to wait till the crash 
came, she was going to do it now. There might be a 
secret, but she had guessed it, and while she might 
not tell mother, or even hurt him by letting him guess 
that she knew, still she could stand beside him, ready, 
and do everything in her power. Whatever else she 
did, she resolved, she must not let Father Moxie know 
that she had guessed the true condition of affairs ; but 
let him go on thinking that he had the dread secret 
all safely buried from them all. It would be the hard- 
est blow of all when he must tell them, and she would 
help postpone the evil day as long as possible. But 
in silent ways she would help him. She meant to see 
he had the very creamiest glass of milk every day for 
dinner, and she meant to stay in the office one hour 
every afternoon while he went for a walk. She had 
heard him wish that he might. It was so glorious and 
refreshing out of doors and so hot and stuffy in the 


io8 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


horrid little office. She began performing this service 
at once. 

“Why, daughter, I don’t know as I ought to leave !” 
Father Moxie hesitated, looking wearily up from a 
confusion of letters and papers that strewed the desk. 
“Somebody might come in.” 

“Well, supposing they do! I guess I can tend to 
them. If they want to leave an order I can write it 
down, and if it’s something they want to know, they 
can call again, or I’ll tell them you’ll ring them up 
on the ’phone, how’s that?” 

“Why, I guess it would work all rignt. It would 
certainly be a relief to get out in the sun a little 
while.” He stretched his arms in anticipation of such 
a pleasure. “You’re sure you won’t have any 
trouble ?” 

“I’m equal to anything,” Marjorie assured him, as 
she settled her short flounces into the office chair. 
“Isn’t there something I might do to make it inter- 
esting, something to copy or something ? I love to do 
office work. When I get through school I am going 
to be an office girl, can’t I, father ? — and learn to type- 
write and keep books and everything. I’ll buy out 
Mr. Deering, and then we’ll be partners. Won’t 
that be lovely? I shouldn’t be a silent partner either, 
like he is. I’d hate to be silent anything. Let me 
see! Did you say I might address these envelopes 
from that list, and stamp them? Oh, won’t that be 


STANDING BY FATHER 


109 


fun! I love to put on stamps. It seems like spend- 
ing money. Now, have a good time, popsey. Why 
don’t you go to the beech woods? You haven’t any 
idea how lovely it is.” If she could only get Father 
Moxie to go to the beech woods it would be better 
than medicine; but there was something that kept 
him away. “A little matter down the street,” he told 
her, “that I must tend to. I don’t get any chances to 
get off. I appreciate your dropping in this way, 
daughter.” 

“I’m coming every day,” Marjorie assured him. 
“Well, then, perhaps to-morrow I’ll go to the woods,” 
he promised, as he gathered his conspicuous looking 
documents and put them in his pocket. 

“Now a whole hour,” Marjorie warned him. 
“Don’t you dare to come back sooner.” When he was 
gone she stacked up the confusion of letters and 
straightened the desk, dusting it off with her pocket 
handkerchief. “It’s easy to see who I take after,” 
she mused, as she swept a little pile of cigar ashes 
off into the waste-paper basket. “When I leave my 
room at sixes and sevens after this I shall blame it 
all onto father. I never made a worse mess than this 
in all the days of my life. It’s strange that there 
are any models in the family instead of a wonder that 
there are not two.” 

When she had stacked things around to her own 

satisfaction, she began on the envelopes, dashing them 
8 


no 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


off in a bold boyish hand. They were soon stamped 
and ready, waiting in an orderly pile. She viewed 
them proudly. “I may be careless and slouchy about 
little things — my hair, or hanging up things, or — or 
shoe buttons ; but when it comes to real big things — 
business affairs — it pays to save one’s reserve forces 
for really important things. I don’t think father 
could have done them better than that, or even Jane.” 
She looked at the clock. Father Moxie had been gone 
just twenty minutes. Laboriously she drew the great 
ledgers from under the desk and spread them open, 
turning the pages fearfully, half expecting to see her 
father’s failure patent in large letters. At least it 
would do no harm to look them over and so prepare 
herself for the worst. She sighed at sight of the 
long columns of close figures. No wonder father was 
getting gray before his time. 

She turned to the first of the year and began to add 
up the debit column. Expenses — that meant money 
that father had paid out. She began fearfully. They 
were such terrible sums, — “Twenty dollars for white 
poplar poles — two dollars and a half for turpentine — 
(That was a great deal of turpentine. One got a 
whole bottle full for a quarter. She did for mother.) 
— one dollar for glue — (Think of it, a dollar’s worth 
of glue all at one time ! What could father be doing 
with such a lot all at once! She was glad she should 
find nothing about a white Sunday hat with velvet 


STANDING BY FATHER 


hi 


ribbon) — nails, three dollars — oil, ten dollars.” She 
was not half down one single page and she had one 
hundred dollars already. 

The telephone bell rang so she had to break off and 
lose her place. Some one wanted to know the price of 
twelve-inch porch columns and Marjorie had to look 
it up in the catalogue. They were very expensive. 
She was almost afraid to tell how much for fear the 
people wouldn’t buy. She felt that Father Moxie 
could ill afford to lose a customer in face of the pres- 
ent impending crisis. It seemed as though it would 
be best to cut the price just a little teenty bit. She 
hung excitedly between the book and the phone; but 
scarcely daring to venture so bold an act she only 
assured them that if they would call in person they 
would get the very best figures ; there would probably 
be some reduction. Determined not to lose track of 
the least chance she insisted upon their name and 
phone number, and even asked them how many 
columns they thought of buying. She wrote all the 
details on a slip of paper and stuck it on the spindle 
for Father Moxie to consider. One hundred porch 
columns at fifty cents apiece would help to cover some 
of that terrible expense column at least. No wonder 
father was badly “encumbered” if he had to settle for 
all that. Think of paying out fifty dollars all at once 
and for nothing but just boards, too ! It was an awful 
price. 


1 12 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


She began to doubt Father Moxie’s judgment as 
to values. She wondered if some one was not impos- 
ing upon him because he was such a dear good man 
and liked to help everybody. Money for screws, for 
files, and all manner of ugly things, not one thing 
pretty or satisfying that a body could be glad over 
getting, — rosin, and sandpaper and stain; ever and 
eyer so much for draying. It came about every 
fourth place and in appalling sums. It seemed as 
though some of it surely must be unnecessary. 

The phone rang again. This time it was a man 
who wanted Father Moxie to attend to something 
immediately. He seemed very angry, and when he 
understood that he was not in the office the receiver 
was slammed down with a force that almost injured 
poor Marjorie’s ear pans. Once set in motion it 
seemed that the phone never ceased ringing. So 
many impatient, disgusted people Marjorie had never 
listened to before in all her life. People who wanted 
this or that, or didn’t like something and wanted to 
change it; so many who had little business matters 
to settle; — the coal man, the oil man, the gas man. 
It seems that Father Moxie ought to have attended 
to every one of them long, long ago. Things were 
indeed in a serious pass. Every one seemed more or 
less angry and some more so. Marjorie lifted the 
receiver fearfully. 

“Hello, hello! Is this fourteen two? Well, what 


STANDING BY FATHER 


ii3 

on earth ails you people! Isn't two weeks long 
enough to wait? I'm in a hurry for that order. I 
could have had it done up at the Falcon long before 
this. If I can't get it by to-morrow I'll countermand 
the order.'' In vain Marjorie shouted promises to 
silence him. He continued mumbling: “A pretty 
concern! Promised to have it in three days, — more 
like three months!" 

“Hello, hello ! Is this Moxie & Deering? Thought 
you were going to send a man up to talk things over ! 
We can't wait on your motion all summer. Things 
have wound about to a focus. Got anything better 
to offer than six per cent?" 

Marjorie was obliged to tell them that no one was 
in the office. 

“A great way to do business," he growled. “Lock 
up office in the middle of the day." 

She longed to tell him about the walk, about how 
pale Father Moxie was growing, and how worried 
she was, but he shut her off with a bang. Yes, 
things were indeed winding to a focus, she felt more 
and more convinced of the fact. 

“Hello ! Is this Moxie ? How will it be about that 
little bill this afternoon! I’ll send a man around to 
collect. Hate to press you, you know, but we're run- 
ning a little close ourselves. 'Long about five o’clock, 
say! All right, good-bye." 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


LI 4 

Marjorie grew to dread the prophetic ring. It was 
bound to be something unpleasant. 

Then the fat man came crowding through the nar- 
row doorway, filling the little office with his pompous- 
ness. He refused the one reception chair, probably 
because it was much too small, and stood with his 
arms folded imposingly across his white waistcoat, 
and glared down at Marjorie, who assured him that 
her father would be in, in exactly fifteen minutes by 
the clock. 

“As though I could stand around and wait,” he 
grumbled. “T m tired of excuses. Yesterday he had 
to see his partner, and to-day he is out. It looks to 
me like a put-up job.” 

“If you’ll just take a seat,” Marjorie persisted, “it 
would be no time — ” 

“I thought you said it would be fifteen minutes! 
Fifteen minutes are nine hundred seconds exactly, 
young lady,” he reproved her sternly. “That’s an 
important thing to learn, the value of seconds. Every 
one is a valuable link in the golden chain of time. 
For every one my neighbor robs me of he is a thief, 
for time is opportunity, and opportunity lost may 
never come again.” His deep gutteral voice seemed 
to cause the very walls to quake and tremble. 

Marjorie experienced a sinking feeling at the pit of 
her stomach. His expression of personal grievance 
seemed almost to accuse Father Moxie of theft. He 


STANDING BY FATHER 


ii5 

drew some very imposing red morocco books from 
his pocket and began turning the leaves. 

“Um ! Here I have it. Thursday, June fifteenth, — 
A very serious matter — a very serious matter. This 
at least should have had prompt attention from a 
firm who values its reputation.” He cleared his 
throat heavily. 

“Is it anything I can attend to?” Marjorie spoke 
with trembling meekness. 

“Um, no, I hardly think so !” He swelled his bulg- 
ing white front dangerously. “A very important 
matter — strictly private — strictly private. No, I 
hardly think so.” 

His eyes seemed to be measuring Marjorie’s abbre- 
viated petticoats disparagingly. She felt herself 
shrinking perceptibly. He was a terrible, terrible 
man. Perhaps he was the one who caused the 
“encumbrances.” Perhaps Father Moxie owed him a 
great deal and couldn’t pay it. He looked as though 
he wouldn’t have the least mercy in the world. His 
big, baggy eyes didn’t have a bit of feeling in them. 
He would strip away the last thing a body had with- 
out hurting his conscience a bit. Yes, no doubt they 
would lose their house and all the furniture would be 
sold, even the keepsakes. She determined, however, 
to rescue her very dearest old Carolyn Curls at all 
hazards. She might have to fight it out with him, but 
she resolved to do it sooner than lose her very last 


n6 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


and dearest treasure. If Father Moxie was at the 
mercy of such a tyrant there wasn’t the least hope in 
the world. A sense of injustice almost overwhelmed 
her. She wondered if it would do any good to say 
anything. He was so big and so — so broad. She 
decided that it wouldn’t; still, she ventured a timid 
inquiry. 

“Is — is it very important? — the business, I mean. 
— Does he owe you much — much money?” Her 
heart almost stood still as she waited for the answer. 

“Young lady, when you are a little older you will 
know that all business matters are important, however 
trivial, though perhaps you won’t — some people never 
learn it, hence so many failures. The first thing for 
a business enterprise that expects to get on, to learn” 
— the words seemed to rumble out of his great throat 
— “is to pay strict attention to all appointments. Tell 
your father I will call again!” 

The echoes of that awful voice seemed to fill the 
dingy little office long after he had stamped his way 
down stairs. Yes, he was the man all right. Mar- 
jorie felt convinced of that. She imagined he made a 
business of selling people’s houses from over their 
heads and stripping away their treasures. Oh, poor, 
poor father ! and wasn’t there a thing in the world she 
could do for him? It all looked so hopeless and she 
was so helpless. A vision of his careworn face flashed 


STANDING BY FATHER 


ii 7 

over her and she determined she would tell him about 
the fat man — but not that night. 

She was just going back to the books when a firm 
hand turfied the knob and an oily agent came in and 
drew the reception chair very close, and sat down full 
of confidence. His face was wreathed with smiles, 
and it was a relief, too, after so many distressing hap- 
penings. Marjorie had not yet learned the terror of 
agents, else she might have counted this as one of the 
calamities. Instead, she returned his seeming good 
humor with one of her sweetest, friendliest smiles. 

“So rare to find an agreeable young person in an 
office now-a-days,” he complimented her. “I can con- 
gratulate myself upon my good fortune. I have here 
a simple little device of unparalleled value to office 
people — in fact, once used it can never be dispensed 
with — that I know you will be interested in. It saves 
hours of tedious figuring, doing the work for you in 
an incredibly short time. Let me see ! Here you have 
been doing something of that sort.” He drew the 
heavy ledger toward him. “Here you have added 
this. This is your answer, is it not? — seven hundred 
and forty-nine. Now this simple little counting 
machine will do the work in much less time. Just 
watch !” 

He set it up on the desk and proceeded to operate. 
Yes, in a jiffy there was the answer, correct, too. 
Marjorie’s eyes bulged in amazement. 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


118 

“It took me most an hour,” she admitted, humbled 
before such gifted manifestations. “Oh, it would be 
such a saving to father.” She reached out and 
touched the figured keys respectfully. 

“It is surely a wonderful little invention and ought 
•to be on every desk. Does the work swiftly and cor- 
rectly, and is never out of order. No such thing as 
books not balancing, all the terrible mistakes that 
sometimes lose good men their positions, — mistakes 
that complicate firms and bankrupt millionaires, — 
done away with by this simple little device. Even the 
best of men will make mistakes. The brain becomes 
fagged with hours of long toiling over columns like 
this, the eyes refuse to see correctly. Let this thing 
of wood and iron do the work! Simply touch the 
numbers as you would the keys of a typewriter and 
there is your answer as plain as day. Away forever 
with the old tedious method of figuring it out! No 
such thing as break-down, or brain fag; no poor 
physical wrecks from over office hours. Who knows 
how many good firms have gone to smash from some 
little mistake in keeping the books ! If any one thinks 
it is easy, let him try it! Column after column, and 
column after column. You know it isn’t.” 

Yes, Marjorie knew. She sat up. Her eyes shone. 
Oh, if she could' only get one for Father Moxie! He 
was a skillful agent. He watched her varying moods. 

“Who knows how many helpless wrecks that crowd 


STANDING BY FATHER 


119 

the city hospitals might have been spared to useful life 
by the use of this simple little device! If you have a 
father or a brother who toils his life away at this irk- 
some desk, you can save him by ordering one of these 
lightning calculators. Oh, I see by your face that 
you have — no doubt a beloved father, and you have 
watched him day by day growing old and worn 
before his time, struggling along with a load far too 
heavy for his frail shoulders. I know how to sympa- 
thize with you; you have my heartfelt sympathy, and 
let me advise you as a friend, my dear young Miss, to 
invest in one of these lightning calculators. It is the 
best thing that you can do. It is the only thing that 
will save him. Oh, you will never regret it, I assure 
you. The price is so little, scarcely worth mentioning, 
and after all, what is money weighed in the balance 
with a loving father. I am sure you do not count it 
as anything.” 

Oh, no, she did not. She would give up the new 
red parasol that was coming. She would gladly go in 
rags — rags, for the sake of helping Father Moxie 
just ever so little a bit. The lump in her throat 
almost strangled her as she asked the price. 

“We do not accept any money down, but only take 
your name. When the machine is delivered, three 
weeks from now, if you find it in perfect order you 
may pay ten dollars, which is really nothing at all for 
such a valuable concern. Were I in an office I would 


120 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


gladly pay ten times that amount could I not get one 
otherwise. You will never regret it, I assure you, 
when you see your father growing young and 
sprightly, the finger of care ceasing to furrow his 
face; you will count any little effort on your part well 
spent. You see our not delivering the goods for three 
weeks gives you ample time to arrange the small 
question of money! You don’t need to worry about 
that at all. There are a great many ways that a girl 
of your size could earn ten dollars in three weeks,” 
he suggested in answer to the crowding anxiety in 
her face. Oh, if she only could! If she could think 
of a way! 

“We are very lenient. If, when we come to deliver 
the goods, you should not be able to pay all down, we 
will trust you for the rest. We will give you plenty 
of time. We want to make sure that you possess one 
of these very valuable machines. We are anxious to 
place one in every office in this city.” 

“Oh, would you do that? Would you?” Marjorie 
clasped her hands impulsively. “I’d do anything to 
get one for father. I’ll slave. I’ll do everything 
under the sun. Oh, if you only knew!” She found 
herself pouring out all the anxiety and the terrible 
fear of the last few days to this new and seemingly 
sympathetic listener. — “And oh, oh, if it should be 
'encumbrances’ and if it’s the fat man there isn’t the 
least hope in the world. The house will be sold and 


STANDING BY FATHER 


121 


everything in it, and father is such a good, good 
father, and he thinks we don’t know it, and nobody 
does but me, and I mean to stand by him — and oh, 
oh! I’d do anything, anything, if I could only help 
him, even so teenty a bit.” If a lightning calculator 
would do it — She saw him writing her name with a 
sudden overwhelming sense of misgiving. Oh, what 
had she done! Ten dollars! Oh, how, how was she 
ever to get it ! 

As soon as Father Moxie came in she grabbed her 
hat and ran all the way home. Then because she 
could not tell any one there, she turned at the front 
gate and ran back as far as the fountain lady with 
four heads. The sight of her was comforting — Four 
heads! It seemed as though she could think better. 
She dropped down breathlessly upon one of the green 
park seats, her heart a wild and fluttering thing in 
her bosom. Life seemed to be presenting a great 
many complications all of a sudden. 


CHAPTER IX 


HER EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 

“She didn’t see as living on the avenue made a mite of differ- 
ence with people’s manners.” 

“How many did you get, Marj ?” Dick waylaid his 
sister in a mad race for the kitchen cupboard. “I’ll 
bet you never got a one.” He snatched at the sweaty 
order book Marjorie clutched in her hand. “No, sir, 
not a one, not a single pelt. Mother, she never got an 
order.” He called the information at the top of his 
voice. “You’re a dandy canvasser, you are! Been 
gone three hours and never got a pelt. I’d give up.” 

Jane came to the sitting room door with her lap full 
of unfinished sewing. 

“I didn’t think they would be a good sale,” she re- 
marked, with an “I told you so” air. This irritated 
Marjorie beyond endurance. She made a lunge for 
the book and caught Dick by the sleeve. 

“Give that back here, Dick Moxie! Do you hear 
me? Just give that right straight back, or I’ll tell 
ma! Ma, can’t Dick give me my book?” 

“Richard, don’t tease your sister!” Mother 
Moxie’s voice came from the cellar where she was 
skimming milk. 

“There, now! you just better paw it over! You 


122 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 123 

had to go and scrunch it all up, didn’t you, smartie? 
How do you know I didn’t get an order? There’s 
more than one page to that book, I’d have you know. 
Look there, will you, and there!” She displayed the 
closely-scribbled remnants of her last month’s school 
test. “If it had been a bear ’twould a bit you.” 

“Aw, that ain’t no order,” Dick protested scath- 
ingly. “You can’t fool me, Sis. You never got a one. 
Come, own up!” He loosened her last remaining 
ribbon. 

“Well, I don’t care, I’m not through yet. Just wait 
till I give up, will you? I’ve got more grit than you 
have, so there, Jonathan Brag! I’d like to know 
if there isn’t a thing to eat in this cupboard. I’m 
starving.” She rattled the dishes around desper- 
ately. “I thought there was a piece of pie-plant pie 
left. Dick Moxie, did you eat that? I don’t see why 
you don’t eat up everything there is. There was a 
piece of cake in that tin. I’d like to know what’s 
become of it. I suppose if I look in the cookie jar that’ll 
be empty. There never is a scrap of anything when 
you’re around the house. I’d be a pig and be done 
with it. I guess if you’d worked as hard as I have 
you’d be hungry, too.” 

“What’s the use of working?” Dick remarked dis- 
paragingly. 

Marjorie turned upon him fiercely, “Now you stand 
there and croak, you horrid, mean thing. I wonder 


124 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


how it seems to be as mean as you are. Fd be 
ashamed of myself. I do believe you’d be tickled to 
death if I didn’t get one. You’d be glad if I couldn’t 
earn a cent to pay for that horrid old machine when it 
comes, and if father had to work himself into the 
grave adding up columns that you never will be smart 
enough to do, if you live to be as old as Methuselah. 
You’d just take it and spend it for horrid old foot- 
balls and things there ain’t any sense in. You don’t 
care how hard father works. Did you ever stay in 
the office an hour for him in all the days of your life? 
Answer me that! Would you go out and* swelter in 
the hot sun and be snubbed by wretched old women 
for the sake of buying him anything? No, of course 
you wouldn’t. All you can do is to stand around 
and discourage other folks. Anyhow, you couldn’t 
expect folks to have a cent down on Troop Street. 
They’re as poor as poverty’s foot. I’m going up on 
Michigan Avenue. I only went there to get started. 
You just wait till night comes, Dick Moxie!” she 
prophesied, as she spread a thick slice of. bread with 
beans and put a pickle on it. 

The sun was hot. Marjorie paused on the front 
porch to dig her “sample” out of the croquet box 
where she had hidden it when she came in. She would 
have somebody’s “pelt” before night, she vowed it, 
as she went out, slamming the gate with a vicious 
bang. 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 


I2 5 


Michigan Avenue was the very swellest locality in 
all Northrum. All the houses were two-story, and 
some of them were brick. Mayor Newcomb had a 
fountain in his yard, and ever so many people had 
stone horses and things on their lawns. There were 
knockers on all the doors. But Marjorie began upon 
them boldly. The first, though she rang repeatedly, 
presented a stolid front. No one came to the door, 
and the small parting in the lacy front curtain drew 
together as if by magic. There was a moment of tip- 
toeing footsteps, then all was most oppressively silent 
and forbidding. They were at home but they weren’t 
coming to the door. 

Marjorie’s blood grew hot. She rang the bell 
again, this time with redoubled energy. She snatched 
a geranium blossom out of the urn as she went angrily 
down the front steps. They wouldn’t even give her 
a chance to show what she had. There wasn’t any- 
thing in the world uglier than a cross woman. They 
seemed to be afraid to treat an agent decent. Just as 
if it would do any hurt to look at a thing and say it 
was nice, — and those that did look never had any 
money, or if they did they didn’t dare to spend it 
until they could ask “him.” 

She had resolved to take them in their order, omit- 
ting none. She stuck to her resolution heroically, 
though three of the houses in succession remained 
stoically silent against her most vigorous advances. 


126 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


The news of her approach had spread like contagion. 
At the fourth house a lady opened the door about two 
inches and peeked out. 

“We wouldn't wish for anything to-day, thank 
you," she said with icy politeness that was meant to 
be final. 

“But this is different. I know you never saw any- 
thing like this. Everybody wants them," Marjorie 
protested against the slowly-closing aperture. She 
unrolled the sample anxiously. “Please let me show 
you! It's really a lovely way to preserve photo- 
graphs. It makes a beautiful ornament to any room, 

■ — stands on a beautiful easel and — ." But the last 
hint of an opening had disappeared, and she heard the 
click of a patent lock on the inside. 

Burning with indignation she turned away. No- 
body would look at it. They wouldn’t give her time 
to say the little speech she had sat down by the foun- 
tain lady and practiced a whole hour so she could say 
it by heart. It was a lovely medallion just the same, 
whether any one looked at it or not. The sample she 
carried was of a beautiful little girl with long curls 
and a muff. She was just as sweet as she could be, — 
and it had brass corners and everything. It was a 
fine way to preserve photographs. They couldn’t get 
fly-specked nor anything, and a body could have a 
black border or a red border. They were just as nice 
as they could be whether anybody thought so or not. 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 


1 27 


How could folks know if they never even looked at 
them. Never, so long as she lived, would she slam 
the door in an agent's face. It was perfectly rude and 
horrid, and she didn’t see as living on the avenue 
made a mite of difference with people’s manners. 
Think of a lovely glass medallion as big as that, with 
such perfectly gorgeous corners and an easel to stand 
it up by, all for seventy-five cents. It was cheap — 
cheap as dirt, and anybody might be proud to own 
one. 

At the next place she was told that there was a 
sick man inside and that they had company to din- 
ner, and that the cook had left all of a sudden. Of 
course one couldn’t be expected to be interested in 
medallions under such trying circumstances. At a 
very prim gray house on the corner, that Marjorie 
recognized as the home of the Sunday-school superin- 
tendent, a little girl came to the door with the infor- 
mation that her mamma was not at home, though 
Marjorie felt sure that she had seen that good lady 
not a moment before entering from the back yard. 
However, it was quite useless to say she was, if she 
wasn’t, so there was nothing to do but go on to 
another. Here a very dark-eyed lady who looked like 
the witch of Endor, her face done up in red flannel 
rags and a steaming brick in her hand, threw the 
door open savagely, and Marjorie did not feel much 
disposed to press the matter. 


128 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


A fussy little lady in a handkerchief kimona, her 
mouse-colored hair held up by one glaring aluminum 
pin, wanted one done of her dead brother Alexander, 
‘but he didn’t allow her to buy anything of agents, so 
of course she couldn’t give the order. Marjorie 
solemnly made vows concerning the marriage rela- 
tion that should she ever decide to enter it at least 
half of the money should be hers to do with as she 
pleased, and never once should she ask “him.” It 
was a shame the poor woman couldn’t have a picture 
of her dead brother Alexander done if she wanted to. 
Marjorie meditated that if she were very rich she 
would give her one as a present just to make such a 
stingy man ashamed of himself. 

Hot and discouraged she tried the last house on 
the street. It was a lovely brown brick, trimmed with 
fancy shingles and queer little latticed windows. 
There was a balcony of crimson geraniums across the 
front and flower urns on either side the walk. A lady 
in a rustling silk gown came to the door and opened 
it ever so little. She was putting on her hat to go out 
and had the pins in her mouth. She shook her head 
at Marjorie and said that it was useless to undo the 
medallion, but Marjorie kept on desperately. 

“I wouldn’t care for anything at all. I never buy 
such things,” she protested, — “besides I’m very busy.” 
She began to close the door, but goaded beyond 
endurance Marjorie put her stout little boot in the 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 129 

crack. She would insure enough room to talk through 
at least. For once she was going to tell it. She was 
going to tell it through to the end. 

“It’s — it's a medallion,” she persisted. “It's just 
lovely. Everybody thinks so that sees it.” It wasn’t 
an untruth. Few had seen it. “It won’t take but a 
minute to show you. It’s got beautiful brass corners 
and an easel to stand it up by.” 

“I never buy such things of agents, they are so 
cheap and — and common.” 

“But this isn’t cheap. It costs seventy-five cents. 
It’s nice thick glass and the corners are pure brass 
(she wondered if they really were), and you can have 
anybody’s picture done, — your own or your little 
girl’s or anybody’s, — and if there’s two of them it 
doesn’t cost any more, and you don’t have to pay a 
cent down till we bring it back all fixed for you, and 
you can’t deny but that seventy-five cents is cheap for 
such a perfectly beautiful medallion with brass cor- 
ners,” she persisted with blissful disregard for con- 
tradictions. She had followed the lady into the house 
and kept close to her heels relentlessly. She held the 
little girl with curls and muff up between her and her 
reflected vision in the hall mffror by which she was 
trying to adjust her veil. 

“You can have either a black background or a 
green one or a red one, and it preserves the pictures 
beautifully. They never get even a speck nor a 


13 ° 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


scratch nor anything. You know how soon pictures 
get ruined, — all dug up and specky? Well, this will 
keep them forever and ever. It keeps the picture from 
fading. (The manufacturer had assured her of this.) 
It will look just lovely sitting in there on your piano, 
or on the mantel, and we tint it all in natural colors if 
you want us to, no matter if it’s just a plain photo- 
graph, we make it look like a painting. Just think, 
pink cheeks and blue or brown eyes, just as you 
like. We-” 

“I’m going out now.” The lady had adjusted her 
veil. She took the key from the door. Marjorie fol- 
lowed so close that she stepped upon the lady’s long 
sweeping train. 

“Haven’t you just one picture of somebody?” she 
persisted, — “vour husband, — you could surprise him. 
Have one done of your baby — or — or your mother!” 
Down the steps and along the walk. “It’s cheap — 
only seventy-five cents. Surely you can afford that. 
You might think of somebody’s. We could put a 
chain on it to hang it up by if you’d rather have it 
than the easel. I believe it is better. An easel is 
bound to be knocked over. Has your husband blue 
eyes? Blue eyes do beautifully. Couldn’t you give 
me just one order?” 

Marjorie stood helplessly on the walk, but the lady 
kept on. She wasn’t going to ! Oh, she wasn’t ! She 
never even looked behind. The voluminous folds of 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 


131 

her veil floated after her. It wasn’t any use. There 
wasn’t any way to make people look unless you took 
them right by the neck and held them. Her feet 
dragged as she crossed through to Green Street. 
Green Street was cool, with many trees and many posy 
gardens in all the yards. Posy gardens were ever so 
much dearer than lawns, and common little dogs that 
ran out and barked at you weren’t half as terrible as 
great closed doors all elaborate with glass and brass 
knobs and things. The sight of dirty little children 
wallowing in the gutter was refreshing. Why was it 
that all good people were poor? 

Marjorie walked dejectedly by, on past the houses. 
She hadn’t the heart to try any more; besides, one of 
the gaudy brass corners had become loosened and 
kept falling off and rattling down onto the walk. She 
sat down on a nearby hitching block and tried to fix 
it. She managed to secure it after a fashion with a 
pin. The sight of the meek little girl with the curls 
and the muff was growing hateful to her. Her own 
face was red and perspiring. Her hair hung in stringy 
wisps that were sticky and hot. Her feet ached so 
that she could hardly drag them over the stone walks. 
What would mother say! What would Dick say! 
What would Jane ! Above all, what would the agent 
who was coming in just three weeks for ten whole, 
terrible dollars? She arose again wearily, goaded 
to final desperate effort. 


i3 2 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


At the very farthest end of the street, at the most 
dilapidated weather-beaten house, surrounded by 
empty lots, a woman was hanging up clothes. A long 
line of them flapped briskly in the breeze and the 
ends of the knotted red handkerchief about her head 
flapped too. What Marjorie could see of her ruddy 
face looked common and homely. She went up to the 
defaced little front door and rang. She had to ring 
several times very loudly before the woman with the 
handkerchief over her head could hear, then she came 
clumping in from the back door, shaking her fist 
threateningly. 

“You go vay! I vant notting — notting,” she com- 
manded. “I vork all day. I got no times to boder 
mit you. Some agent or other a-coming ting-a-ling, 
ting-a-ling the whole times. When you spose I get 
mine vashing on the line if I chase up one hundred 
times already to that bell, say?” 

Marjorie began fearfully on her explanations; but 
the woman shook her head stubbornly, and put both 
her hands over her ears to shut out any possible 
enlightenment. 

“I not leesten,” she cried. “I not buy anytings, I 
told you so. You must go avay or I call de bolice- 
mans. What for you want to boder me till I mad?” 
She pushed Marjorie bodily from the door and shut 
it with a bang. “Next time I not come vay in for 






“ It’s a perfectly lovely thing. See there now ! Isn't it?" 






EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 133 

nottings,” she grumbled, as she pattered away to her 
boiler of clothes and the waiting tubs. 

Marjorie heard her big clumsy shoes going. Irri- 
tated beyond endurance she ran down the front steps 
and around to the back door. When the good woman 
stepped out with a fresh armful she confronted her 
with a look of stubborn persistence. 

“Fm not going to stir a step off this porch till I’ve 
told you about it,” she said firmly. “It’s lovely, and 
youVe got to see it. I’m not an agent. I never sold a 
thing in my life; but Fm going to sell this. YouVe 
got to look at this whether you want to or not.” She 
began unrolling the sample. “If you put your fingers 
over your eyes Fll follow you around till you have to 
open ’em, so you might as well do it first as last. I’m 
not going to be treated so. I just won’t. What 
would you do if you just had to have money and 
there wasn’t any other way? You’d sell something, 
too, or you’d try to, and how would you feel if every 
single place as good as turned you out of doors, and 
wouldn’t even look, — supposing they stuck their fin- 
gers in their ears when you tried to talk and wouldn’t 
even listen! Wouldn’t you be discouraged, too? 
Wouldn’t you just think people were the horridest, 
meanest things? But I won’t let you be as mean as 
you want to be. I don’t care if you do send for the 
policeman. If you do, I’ll sell him one, too. It’s a 
perfectly lovely thing. See there now! Isn’t it?” 


134 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


She waved it in the air and the corner stayed on 
beautifully. 'That glass is a quarter of an inch thick, 
and you can have it done in any color you want, and 
on an easel or a perfectly lovely chain to hang it up 
by. We take any photograph that you want done 
and fix it all up for you and tint it just like life, and if 
there are any blemishes, — warts, you know, or things 
like that, we take them ofif free of charge, and the 
corners are real brass and it’s only seventy-five cents, 
and you don’t pay till we bring the picture so you can 
see if it is all right.” She plunged on excitedly, fear- 
ful lest she be overtaken in her narrative. "You can 
see for yourself how it protects the picture and how 
nice it is. Now isn’t it nice?” She forced it under the 
little old-country woman’s nose. "It would be an 
ornament to any parlor, now wouldn’t it? Did you 
ever see anything more perfectly lovely in all your 
life? A picture positively can’t get soiled done up in 
this way.” The woman sat down on the cistern curb 
with the pan of clothes in her lap and laughed and 
laughed, till Marjorie grew uneasy. She felt anx- 
iously of the loose corner. 

"It really does protect them. The man told me 
himself that it kept them from fading, and see how 
sweet and pink this little girl’s cheeks are; just like 
life. Haven’t you got some picture you would like 
to have made like that?” The woman laughed harder 
and louder. 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 135 

“Veil, you vas a good von. You sure got me cor- 
nered now. You vas all right, all right. You beat 
them all. I tink me you sell sometings.” She laughed 
again till a part of the twists of wet clothes rolled 
from the pan to the floor. 

“Ach Himmel ! She chase me to de kitchen. She 
schtick it under mine nose, bold little hussy ! She sure 
vas all right. She give up, no. I like dot. She got 
dem all beat, so.” 

“But it is pretty, isn’t it? It makes a beautiful 
ornament and lasts forever. I know you would love 
to have one, anybody would. Surely you have a 
picture of some one, — your little girl or — or maybe 
your husband.” 

“Ach Gott! I haf pictures, yes.” a The woman 
ceased laughing and swayed to and fro over the curb. 
“It is all I do haf.” She led Marjorie inside. All the 
hard lines of her face had melted; there was only a 
childish eagerness for sympathy. She brought out a 
bright red photograph album with a heart-shaped 
mirror set in the cover. 

“They are all in there, — mine family. Seex of dem 
all dead. Ach! mine poor dear huspand!” She 
wiped her eyes on her brown gingham apron, look- 
ing at it for a dry spot. 

Marjorie contemplated the group with silent sym- 
pathy, — spat-footed little frauleins in linsey petticoats, 
a little colorless boy in knickerbockers, his hair very 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


136 

much uncut, — a man and a woman corralling the six 
into a circle to be “took,” — the man with a great deal 
of watch chain twined in and out through his button- 
holes, the woman with great “ear bobbers,” her 
hands spread decorously upon her front, keeping a 
vigilant eye upon the wriggling twins at her knee. It 
was touching to think that they were all dead; Mar- 
jorie’s voice sunk to a respectful whisper as she asked: 

“Wouldn’t it be some comfort to have them where 
you could look at them always, instead of put away in 
an album? — an album is so like a — a grave.” She 
meant . to be consoling, but somehow she seemed to 
fail of her mission. The woman broke out afresh. 

“Ach, yes! It is like a grave; but as well here as 
there. Mine huspand he leaf me poor — no moneys. I 
vash me for a leefing.” 

In a moment she was pouring out all the long, 
miserable story. Marjorie sat stiff and uncomfort- 
able on the haircloth sofa till it was finished. 

“I vas a poor old voomans whom nopody cares at 
all for any more now already. If I only had me mine 
dear huspand and seex childer.” 

“Yes, but some people haven’t even a picture,” 
Marjorie comforted. “It is a very good picture.” She 
spoke hesitatingly, looking about for a possible place 
to set a medallion in case one had one. “Did your 
little girls have yellow hair?” she asked timidly. 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 137 


“Yellow hair looks beautiful. We could tint them 
just as natural, and their eyes.” 

“Ach, Gott ! they were as blue as the sky,” wailed 
the mother, — '“and they are all dead.” 

“They would look as though they were alive if they 
were tinted. Just think! pink cheeks and red lips!” 
suggested Marjorie, eager to be of some consolation. 
“It would be a great deal of comfort I am sure to 
have them tinted. The little boy looks like his father,” 
she remarked by way of diversion. 

“So? Ach, mine poor little Fritzie! Mine poor 
huspand ! It iss bad to lose a good huspand. I haf to 
vash me for a leefing.” 

“What color were your husband's eyes?” Marjorie, 
made one more attempt to turn the doleful drift of 
conversation. 

“Same like blue, too. A little darker nor the childer. 
Hes hair vas not so — yellow, vat you call it. He 
was von good-looking man, mine huspand, tink?” 
She asked the question anxiously. “Ven we got our- 
selves married ve vas said to be von good-looking 
couples already. Trouble like I haf had takes dose 
tings away.” She sighed as she crossed her water- 
soaked hands upon the brown gingham and swayed 
to and fro in the blue plush rocker with a red head 
rest. 

“Ve vas von good-looking families. Mine little girls 
were all so plump and rosy till they get themselves 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


138 

seek and die so quick, and mine little poy, everybody 
say he was one handsome little poy. He haf much 
freckles on his face so. The picture show them not 
on. I like not to lose the freckles mit his dear little 
nose off. Tink you could put freckles back, youst so, 
on mine dear little poy’s face?” 

“Oh, yes, I think we could,” Marjorie replied 
enthusiastically. Freckles would be easy, just little 
brown specks. Surely they could do freckles for the 
sake of pleasing a poor woman who had lost six chil- 
dren and one husband. She found herself convincing 
her simple listener of the ability of the “firm” to pro- 
duce freckles in any quantity and color. 

“And mine huspand he vas lost one finger mit the 
picture in. I like not to see him so. It vas a blemish, 
vat you call it. I like for you to put him on one fin- 
ger, please. On the little girls’ necks you may put 
chains, gold chains mit lockets on, and on mine own 
finger I vould like a ring, if you please.” 

Marjorie wrote down the directions fearfully. She 
had a great deal of faith in the possibility of what 
could be done; but the making of a whole finger was 
a rather serious undertaking, however she assumed 
the responsibility with as much confidence as she 
could possibly muster. 

“Of course it may not look just like a real finger,” 
she intimated, “but we’ll do the best we can.” She 
agreed to furnish rubies for the five lockets, and set 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 


139 


the ring with a showy emerald. She convinced the 
woman that an emerald would be much better than 
a diamond, as diamonds, being of no special color, 
would be a little difficult to manage. 

Out on the street she read through the list with 
compunction: “One batch of freckles, one finger, five 
chains with lockets, one gold ring, five rubies, one 
emerald.” Yes, it might be a little difficult, no doubt 
it would be, yet when all the particulars were under- 
stood — surely a woman who had lost so much was 
due some special consideration. 

She carried the picture safely wrapped in brown 
paper and tied with a blue yarn string. Her spirits 
began to rise. At last she had an order, — one. True, 
it wasn’t as many as a dozen ; but it was something to 
show Dick, — something to waive Jane’s contempt. 
One was a great many more than none. She shouldn’t 
have to face the cold disgust of the “manager.” He 
couldn’t quite ignore a girl who had gotten one order, 
though he could never, never know the terrible things 
she had been through to accomplish even so little. 
Never, as long as she lived, would she be a real, regu- 
lar agent, no, not if her life depended on it. It would 
be easier to starve respectably than to face all those 
terrible unfeeling women daily. She would never 
blame Mother Moxie again for talking to a poky old 
agent while everybody was starving to have supper 
put on. 


140 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


On the corner of Elm Street she ran into Dick. He 
had been to the grocery for peanuts. She just knew 
it. He was cracking some. She pounced upon him 
and went through his pockets like a whirlwind. 

“Give me some, pig! Where are they? You're 
eating them. I smell 'em. Fresh roasted! Oh, Dick! 
I'm famished! Can’t you whack up? Don't be a 
stingy. Oh, here they are ! Salted ones ! Oh, goody, 
goody! If there was a thing in the world I wanted 
worst it was peanuts. How did you ever think of it?" 

“Oh, I reckoned I’d run onto you some place, and 
that you'd need bracing up, — anybody who works all 
day and don't get an order." 

“But I did, so there, smartie! Who says I didn't?" 
Marjorie waved the brown bundle tied with blue yarn. 
“It's a family group — six children and a man and 
woman and they're all dead, that is, all but the 
woman, and the man has to have a finger put on." 

“A finger put on? Pooh! They can't put a finger 
on anything." 

“Of course it will be a rather delicate job but I 
think it can be done. The boy has to be made 
freckled. He isn't; but of course the woman wants 
him to be now that he is dead." 

“Let's see the old thing anyhow!" Dick demanded 
irreverently. “It must be a freak lot all right." 

“Well, it's not. These are five little girls and their 
eyes are all to be tinted blue and they all have yellow 


EXPERIENCES AS AN AGENT 141 


hair. It will be lovely. We are going to put gold 
chains on them, and the lockets are to be set with 
rubies." 

“Pshaw !" Dick had succeeded in undoing the many 
wrappings, and he waved the picture contemptuously. 
“Medallion! Huh! Whatever made you think you 
could make a medallion of this! A tintype — Huh! 
You'd better go trot it back, Sis, and tell 'em it’s 
all off." 

“But why not?" Marjorie stood overwhelmed. All 
her peanuts fell in a shower to the walk. She looked 
at Dick with round, terrified eyes. 

“Why not?" she repeated blankly. 

“Well, just because it can’t, that's why. Who ever 
heard of making a medallion of a tintype? You're a 
good one, you are. I'd be sick." His taunting tones 
spurred Marjorie back from the depths of despond- 
ency. 

“It's going to be done! Do you hear, Dick Moxie? 
There's isn't any can't about it. Anything can be 
done that has to be. Yes, it's a tintype, but it's going 
to be made into a medallion just the same, and I'm 
not coming back till it is, so there !" She swept past 
him with a grand air of dignity to fulfill her promise. 

“Good-bye, Sis! We won't keep a light burning. 
There won't be any use," Dick called after her, mock- 
ingly, but she never turned to look at him or to wave 
the usual good-bye. 

10 


CHAPTER X 


AVERTING A TRAGEDY 

“There’s always something that makes it worth while to do 
things, isn’t there?” 

The man who made the medallions was a very 
imposing person. Marjorie always stood in awe of 
people with black whiskers, and this man’s were very 
black and trimmed pointed, just as she had seen pic- 
tures of Satan. He wore shining patent leather 
shoes too, peaked at the toes, that somehow suggested 
cloven hoofs. His beady little eyes focused nar- 
rowly upon the despised tintype; but Marjorie did not 
wait for any remarks. She plunged into a confusion 
of explanation. 

“It will be rather hard of course; but it must be 
done.” She finished the first deluge. “It isn’t any 
laughing matter to lose a family like that, I tell you. 
If it was any ordinary case it would be different but 
it isn’t. I tell you that poor woman’s eyes are just 
bulged out now with crying and wiping them on her 
apron. Do you s’pose I’d take that picture back and 
tell her it couldn’t be done? I just won’t do it. I’ll 
sit right down here and stay all summer first.” 

“Indeed.” The man tried to conceal a twinkle by 


142 


AVERTING A TRAGEDY 143 

lowering his shaggy black brows. “We scarcely 
anticipate staying so long ourselves.” 

“If she had somebody else, but she hasn’t got not 
even a dog or — or a cat; — just this horrible picture 
stuck off where she can’t see it, and tinting would 
make them look so much more alive. She always 
meant to get her little girls gold chains, but they didn’t 
live till Christmas, but if she could see them on in the 
picture, you know, she could make believe that they 
did. Don’t you think that if you had lost five little 
girls it would be some comfort to think that they had 
lovely gold chains with ruby lockets? — And the poor 
woman never had a ring in her life. Think of 'that! 
Not even a little brass ring that comes with gum, she 
said so. Ancf think what a consolation to see her poor 
dear husband with a finger! It was a terrible acci- 
dent. She came near losing him once before. Think 
of losing your husband twice. She used to be very 
good looking; but you ought to see her now. Trouble 
has caused it. So you see it is positively necessary. 
If it was positively necessary could it be done?” 

“Possibly, but it would be hardly worth while. 
Tintypes do not adhere to glass very successfully.” 

“Oh, but with a very great deal of glue and — and 
patience? — If you used twice as much glue for 
instance? Surely there must be some way. You 
oughtn’t to give up so easily. Supposing it does take 
longer, supposing it takes twice as long, wouldn’t 


144 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


it be worth while? If all your children were dead 
wouldn’t you want to do everything on earth to make 
them look alive, — wouldn’t you? Say! And those 
little girls had lovely yellow hair and blue eyes. 
Would you want them to stand there like pale gray 
dummies forever and forever ? Of course you couldn’t 
make them handsome, nobody could; but you could 
do your best, then you wouldn’t have it on your con- 
science. Who could be handsome, I’d like to know, 
in such funny little petticoats and ugly shoes. It 
seems to me people should be much more carefuller 
about how they dressed their children when they 
were having their pictures taken. It’s like naming 
them, it’s something that can’t be changed. Think 
of having to face people forever and forever, looking 
like a fright ! It’s too bad they can’t be dressed over 
like paper dolls, isn’t it, then even people who were 
dead could keep up with the styles. I think some 
way might be invented. No doubt there will be. 

“ — And just think! her little boy was freckled, very 
freckled. What business had the artist taking all 
the freckles off him, answer me that ! I mean to see 
that they are put on again, a great many of them. 
It makes a great deal of difference being dead. If he 
was alive they would want them taken off, because 
really freckles aren’t becoming; but being dead he 
can’t look any too natural, can he? Most people 
want things taken off. It is a little unusual wanting 


AVERTING A TRAGEDY 145 

so many things put on, isn’t it? Is it much more 
trouble to put things on than to take them off? 

“I think I shall be haunted forever and ever by 
the sight of that poor old thing rocking herself and 
weeping over her lost family. It was a terrible sight. 
It’s awful to see folks rocking themselves when they’re 
unhappy. — And really it does seem as though one of 
them might have lived, so many people do live. Peo- 
ple who have only one or two children manage to 
raise them, and it seems as though a woman who had 
six would stand some show, doesn’t it? After all it 
is rather risky depending on anything, even six. 
Something is sure to turn up. It always does, or else 
it don’t. Always when one depends on it, then it 
don’t. Now you would naturally think that if any 
one lived those stout little Dutch children would, 
wouldn’t you? They don’t look subject to a thing in 
the world.” 

“It might have been smallpox.” 

“Yes, or the measles. They probably had the Ger- 
man measles. Anyhow it was hard to lose six and a 
husband, it must have been — terrible. I know when 
my Vivian Evangeline died I didn’t get over it for 
weeks. It seemed as though I could hear her crying 
clear out in the orchard where we made her grave. 
It was absolutely necessary to bury her, liowever, as 
her stuffing was leaking all over the carpet. We kept 
her till there was positively nothing of her but a 


146 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


skeleton. She was the victim of a wreck, poor dear. 
We wrote it on her tombstone and it looked lovely: 
‘Vivian Evangeline, killed by accident the 13th day 
of May, aged 3 years, six months, and seven days.’ 
We buried her right between a dead toad and our 
precious Willie Winktum, who drowned a terrible 
death in the cistern. Jane left the cistern cover up 
and we made her sew the shroud to pay for it. 

“Willie Winktum was certainly a dear little cat. 
I shall never cease regretting him. — Just the fluffiest, 
cuddliest kitten. He used to love to put his little 
black paws on my cheek. Did you ever love a cat? 
If you did you know just how it feels to lose one, or 
even a doll ; though Vivian Evangeline was only glass 
and never knew what hit her when the organ stool 
fell over on her. — But a real live baby, multiplied by 
six. Oh, it must have been terrible — terrible! And 
then to have to wash on top of it, to keep the wolf 
from the door ! That’s what she does, she told me so 
herself. Her hands are just like wet beans, they 
look as though they had been boiled. Oh, you haven’t 
any idea; but you’ll do the best you can for her, won’t 
you, — and please put an emerald in the lady’s ring. 
She always wanted an emerald. It may be a little 
hard but you mustn’t mind that. Just think what a 
lot of good you are doing in the world. Will it be 
very, very hard to put freckles on a little boy, and a 
finger on a man?” At last she thought her arguments 


AVERTING A TRAGEDY 


147 


were sufficient to venture a direct question. “I 
imagine it will be a rather delicate operation, but it 
could be done, couldn’t it? Did you ever put on a 
finger or — or a thumb or anything like that?” 

“Can’t say as I ever did. It’s a little out of the 
usual order.” 

“But it could be done? — Not a real sure enough 
finger, but something to imagine one, you know?” 

“Yes, I s’pose it could,” reluctantly. 

“ — And most really important things are hard. 
Now it was hard to come here. I never could tell 
you how hard. It seemed terrible to think of facing 
you, but I did it you see.” She smiled up at him with 
a fleeting show of bravery. 

“It made a big lump in here. I can feel it yet; but 
I’m not going to give up, not till I get every last thing 
that I came for — chains with ruby lockets, and 
freckles, and all. I — I shan’t give up if — if it chokes 
me.” She struggled bravely with her confessed 
emotion. 

“Do I look so fierce?” he questioned, the smile at 
last getting the better of his lowered brows. “What 
is there about me that is so awe-inspiring?” 

“I — 1 guess it’s your whiskers,” she admitted, 
taking courage over the weakening lines of his face. 
“But I’m not afraid of you any more. I think your 
whiskers are very nice — only black whiskers are 
rather — rather fierce, don’t you think so?” 


148 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Well, perhaps. What else?” 

“You frown a great deal, though I don’t suppose 
you mean a word of it. Father doesn’t. He gets 
that way from squinting over long sums and no doubt 
you get yours from putting on freckles or maybe 
taking them off, and putting rings on fat old ladies’ 
hands that never had one. I haven’t anything to say 
about wrinkles. I shall have a great many when I 
get old. I can feel them coming.” She rubbed a 
prospective forefinger over her youthful brow. 
“They say that wrinkles are a sign of how many 
children you are going to have. Do you believe that ? 
If it should be true I guess I will have a houseful all 
right. See there!” She showed him her face puck- 
ered into as many wrinkles as possible. 

“It certainly does look as though you would have 
your hands full.” He no longer tried to restrain his 
merriment. His hearty laugh put Marjorie at her 
ease. 

“But perhaps it isn’t a sign of children any more 
than it’s a sign of ugly temper,” Marjorie suggested. 
“If father had children for all his wrinkles he wouldn’t 
be able to support them. Don’t you suppose that an 
adding machine would be a great comfort to any one 
who had a great many sums to do? Isn’t an adding 
machine a perfectly lovely invention?” The man was 
becoming so very agreeable she longed for sympathy. 


AVERTING A TRAGEDY 


149 

— (( A wonderful adding machine with keys and every- 
thing?” Her tones were full of eager inquiry. 

“Yes, I guess they are.” There was interest. 
There was kindly concern. “Why, what do you know 
about adding machines?” Marjorie’s heart bounded. 

“Because I’m buying one for father,” she burst out 
impulsively. “The man is coming with it in just three 
weeks, and I’m to raise the money somehow. I don’t 
kno\y how. That’s why I’m here. I just had to do 
something; but I guess I wasn’t cut out for a can- 
vasser.” The lump was swelling again. “P — people 
wouldn’t listen.” She had risen from the office chair 
in her eagerness but she sank down again heavily and 
sighed. “They wouldn’t even let me in.” She swal- 
lowed hard but a tear crept out in spite of her and 
moistened her lashes. “One woman slammed the 
door.” Her spirits went down to the lowest ebb, but 
with her usual spontaneousness they rose again as 
swiftly. 

“It’s been a terrible experience, but if I had never 
gone through it I should never have found out about 
the poor old woman, would I? — nor — nor how little 
there is in the color of a person’s whiskers. There’s 
always something that makes it worth while to do 
things, isn’t there?” Her smile came flickering back. 
“I did so want to help father,” she confided. 

The last awe-inspiring thing had deserted the man. 
He sat patiently and listened while Marjorie divulged 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


150 

all the terrible secret, describing as best she could the 
overwhelming condition of Father Moxie’s ledgers. 
When she went away she carried with her all sorts 
of promises concerning the tintype, and a bright, new 
fifty-cent piece as her share of the bargain. After 
all, black-whiskered men were the gentlest sort. 

When she reached the office all the dreaded calami- 
ties seemed to have drawn to a focus. Father Moxie 
was waiting for her with his hat on, and his face 
showed such lines of evident distress that she longed 
to throw herself into his arms right then and there 
and beg an explanation; but he scarcely waited to 
answer the first of her anxious inquiries. * 

“Nothing is the matter — a little cold steel is all I 
need.” She caught the disjoined sentences. Cold 
steel! Oh, what did Father Moxie mean? Oh, what 
terrible thing was going to happen? A new fear 
clutched at her heart, gripping — giving no peace. 
Sometimes people lost their minds and were sent away 
to terrible places. Business troubles were often the 
cause of such things. Marjorie began straightening 
miserably at the papers on the desk. A strange pre- 
sentiment of evil seemed to hover about the place. She 
lifted a handful of loose papers and something rattled 
from them noisily. It was a small vial branded with 
that terrible, terrible skull and crossbones. She sank 
weakly into the chair and deciphered the label, “chloro- 
form.” Oh, father, father! What was he about to 


AVERTING A TRAGEDY 


151 

do ? Oh, what awful thing had she discovered ? Her 
own precious father, and perhaps even now it was too 
late to avert a tragedy. 

She pulled the cork and smelled of the sickening 
fluid. She remembered once when they had bought 
some to chloroform a dog who was too old to eat and 
too blind to see. The memory of his poor stiffened 
limbs and staring eyes when they had lifted the box, 
haunted her. She ran down the stairs and looked up 
and down the street, but Father Moxie had disap- 
peared from sight. Perhaps he had thought that 
there was not enough and had gone for more. The 
nearest drug store was three doors away. She ran 
and looked in, but he was not there. She went to the 
corner and looked both ways but could not discern 
the familiar figure among the moving pedestrians. 
Oh, where was he? He couldn’t have gone so far in 
just such a little time. Not daring to leave the office 
alone she went back miserably, only to pace the floor 
in a fever of anxiety. A sickening odor filled the 
room, ever reminding her. The great clock over her 
head ticked a solemn prophecy. Now she pushed the 
window to the top, leaning far out to scan the street, 
only leaving it to run into the hall and look down the 
long flight of stairs and listen for his returning foot- 
steps. The hour passed and his usual time for com- 
ing. Every moment increased her anxiety. To add 
to her convictions, she picked a slip of paper from 


152 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


the floor. It had been torn in strips and a part of it 
was missing, but she read: “ — finish up the job this 
afternoon for good. Will look for you at four.” The 
name was gone. Oh, where was father, and what 
terrible thing was the job that was being finished up? 
Her heart stood still as she thought of it. 

Five minutes past, ten minutes past, fifteen. She 
clutched the little vial of chloroform in her hand con- 
vulsively as she paced and waited. She was white 
and trembling when Father Moxie reached the stair 
landing, and she threw herself upon him in a par- 
oxysm of emotion, hugging him to her, then holding 
him at arm’s length to scan his face. It was drawn 
and haggard. The smell of anesthetics was on his 
clothes. “Oh, father!” she sobbed. “What is it? 
What is it? Oh dear, won’t you tell me — Marjorie? 
Oh, I know it is awful, but I can stand it. I am brave, 
father. Whatever it is I will stand by you.” She threw 
herself into his arms as he sat down and rocked him 
to and fro. “I don’t care if the house must be sold, 
not even if all the very dearest treasures must go — 
I’ll even let you kill the Appetite and Catastrophe, and 
even all the kittens, even down to dear little Nugget 
of Gold. I could bear anything but that. Oh, father !” 
She was sobbing convulsively by now, and Father 
Moxie had to soothe her. 

“Why, little daughter, what put such ideas into 
your head? Who told you the house was to be sold 


AVERTING A TRAGEDY 


153 


or any of the treasures? What are you afraid of, 
Marjorie?” She raised her tear-stained face from his 
coat. 

“Aren't there any en — en — cumbrances?” The 
word was shattered by a sob. “Don't you owe that 
fat man ever and ever so much, and isn't he going* to 
f — foreclose?” Father Moxie hugged her close. 

“Whoever has been telling you all this?” he asked 
her tenderly. 

“No — no — nobody. The fat man came. He's a 
terrible man. He said you didn't tend — to — business 
— and — ” Father Moxie smiled over her head. He 
was well acquainted with the fat man. “ — And you 
are so p — pale and g — gray.” She wept afresh. In 
vain he tried to assure her that he was all right, that 
everything was going on as usual. 

“The business was never better in its life,” he 
told her. “Why, the profits this year are going to 
run way up. Encumbrances? Well, I should say 
not.” 

“They are such long columns — the debts, I mean. 
I tried to add them. You — you looked so worried 
and sick. Oh, father !” She snuggled up farther into 
his neck. Her hand still clutched the awful convinc- 
ing vial. 

“But I'm not sick,” he protested, “ — that is, I feel 
fine now. I was a little off, but it wasn’t anything 
serious.” 


154 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“And weren't you going to do anything — dread- 
ful?" Marjorie hugged him again in a vise-like grip. 
“Oh, father!" 

“What terrible thing could I do, child?" he asked 
anxiously; then his hand felt the little obstacle in hers 
and drew it out. It all dawned on him in a flash. 

“Why, Marjorie! do you think your father would 
be guilty of that? Haven’t you more faith in me than 
that, dear? Why should I want to die when I have 
so much to live for — such blessed children ?" He held 
her as though she had been a baby. 

“When terrible cri — i — ises come people aren’t 
responsible," Marjorie sobbed brokenly. 

“But no crisis has come — none is coming. That 
chloroform was bought for the toothache, child; but 
even that won’t bother me any more, for I have it out, 
you see?" He showed a gaping cavity in the even 
row of his teeth. 

“I made a date with Dr. Johnson for this afternoon. 
That is where I hurried off to so fast." 

“I found a note. It — it said a job to be finished," 
Marjorie stammered, light at last commencing to 
dawn. 

“And that, too, was mystifying, wasn’t it? Well, 
now can’t you smile a little when you find that the 
most serious thing that has been the trouble all these 
days has been the toothache, and that now even the 


AVERTING A TRAGEDY 


i55 

possibility of that is removed ? Why didn’t you come 
and ’fess it all to father?” 

“I — I thought you were trying to shield us, I wanted 
to make you believe that you were. Oh, father !” The 
relief of it left her weak and helpless in his arms. 
Lying there, she told him all about the persistent 
agent and the wonderful counting machine; and all 
about the medallions and the black-whiskered man 
who was really kind, and the poor old woman whose 
family was dead. She unrolled the bright fifty-cent 
piece from the corner of her pocket kerchief. 

“It isn’t much, but it’s a beginning and there’s most 
three weeks left; I’ll find something else. I can do 
anything now that I know you are all right, father, 
dear. I shan’t even mind facing horrible old women.” 

“Brave little girl!” He stroked her hair tenderly. 
“She’d do anything in the world to help me, wouldn’t 
she? You don’t know what a comfort it is to know 
that ; but you needn’t worry about the counting 
machine. I’ve been looking for one a good while and 
will be glad to pay for this. Keep your fifty cents, 
dear, and here’s a dollar to go with it. Run down 
town now and buy you that pretty parasol you were 
speaking of, and some day we’ll take time to run up 
the credit column and see how the books balance, won’t 
we? I want you to know what a really thriving busi- 
ness this is growing to be so that you won’t become 


156 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


discouraged with the prospect of becoming a future 
partner. Hey, little daughter ? I’m counting on that, 
you know,” and he smoothed back her ruffled tresses 
and kissed her tenderly before he let her go. 


CHAPTER XI 


TAKING TESTS 

“One never knew until afterwards just how one was going to 
feel about it.” 

“Here’s a word I’ll bet you can’t spell, Dick Moxie! 
— Pneumatic. There! I’ve got you stuck.” 

“Huh!” Dick brought his heels down from an 
aimless pawing of the air, and raised his head. He 
was lying, stomach down, on the sitting room carpet, 
contemplating the “funny part” of Father Moxie’s 
daily paper. “N-e-u-m-a-t-i-c-k.” 

“Nope.” 

“P-n-u-m-a-t-i-c-k.” 

Marjorie shook her head. 

“T-i-c, then.” 

“Well, that helps one end of it, but it’s wrong yet. 
You’re a good speller, you are!” 

“P-n-e-u-g-h-m-a-t-i-c,” he corrected desperately. 
“There! that’s right, Miss. You needn’t pretend it 
isn’t.” 

“But ’tisn’t. You’re getting colder every minute. 
I knew I had you stuck all right.” 

“Well, then, I’ll spell it n-u-nu — m-a-t-i-c — matic. 
There isn’t any need of wasting so many letters. I 


11 


157 


158 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


guess if it’s good enough for the President of the 
United States it’s good enough for anybody.” 

“But the President don’t hear our spelling class 
and Professor Stoddard does, and he’s going to exam- 
ine us, Dick Moxie, just to-morrow morning. Do you 
hear that? — In the morning the siege commences. 
Tests, tests, tests! Dear! I wish I was smart! 
P-n-e-u-m-a-t-i-c, P-n-e-u-m-a-t-i-c.” She studied 
desperately. “If I knew what they were going to ask, 
then I’d know what to study ; but to think of learning 
everything in the horrid old book. Here’s a sticker. 
H-i-e-r-o-g-l-y-p-h-i-c. I’ll bet you couldn’t have 
spelled that, Dick Moxie!” 

“Pshaw! That’s easy.” Dick retorted, contemp- 
tuous with suddenly-acquired knowledge. “What are 
you wasting your time with those easy things for? 
Why not pick out the hard ones? Now here’s one 
with six letters that I’ll bet you can’t spell. Gneiss. 
Try that.” 

“Why! n-i-c-e, of course.” Marjorie was full of 
indignation. 

“Well, that’s nice all right, but it’s not this sort of; 
a gneiss.” 

“Well, there’s a city in — in Turkey, I think; but 
it’s spelled the same way.” 

“Give up?” Dick questioned triumphantly. 

“No, I don’t, Dick Moxie. If there’s any other 


TAKING TESTS 


159 

sort of a nice it’s n-e-i-c-e or 11-y-c-e or g-n-y-c-e or — 
what does it mean, anyhow?” 

“It’s some sort of a stone or other,” Dick admitted 
reluctantly. 

“Oh ! Gnice,” she spelled haltingly. 

“You’re down, Miss. You’ve had more’n three 
trials, too. G-n-e-i-s-s.” He gave out the letters with 
slow dignity. “Now you see you can’t spell little 
words with six letters.” 

“Well, you couldn’t spell it yourself, smartie, if you 
didn’t have it right under your nose.” 

“And here’s another. Spell fuchsia! I’ll bet you 
a chew of gum you can’t.” 

“Oh, you needn’t think you can stick me on that, 
Dick Moxie! We had that word only the other day. 
F-u-s-c-h-i-a,” she spelled glibly. “So there now! 
Mr. Wiseacre, paw over your gum!” She scrambled 
to where he was on the floor and began searching his 
pockets. 

“Hold on!” he arrested her. “You’d better try 
again. You missed it about a mile. I knew you 
would.” 

“I said f-u-s-c-h-i-a !” 

“I know you did.” 

“Well, that’s right, isn’t it?” 

“I should say not.” 

“Then it’s f-u-s-h-c-i-a,” she corrected with a toss 
of independence. 


i6o 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“F-u-c-h-s-i-a.” He gave the knowledge impres- 
sively. “Glad you didn’t win, Sis; I didn’t have but 
one chew left, and I need that myself.” He took it 
from his pocket and leisurely undid the wrapping. 

“Oh, give me some, Dick! Break it in two?” Mar- 
jorie pleaded. “I haven’t had a chew this week. 
Please! Pretty please!” She held out her hands 
appealingly; but Dick ignored their eloquence. 

“Couldn’t spare it. Just enough for me myself.” 

He made a pass to put it in his mouth, but Marjorie 
was upon him. There was a scuffle, during which the 
organ stool went over and Jane’s rack of church 
hymns came tumbling down. After repeated efforts 
he managed to close his greedy jaws upon the cov- 
eted morsel. 

. “There now ! That settles it. I was going to divvy 
but now I shan’t,” he tortured her. “I guess when a 
girl Jumps on a fellow and stamps him around and 
pulls out half his hair, she can’t expect much. It’s 
awful good gum, Marj. See!” He spun it out in a 
shining strand from his teeth. Marjorie made a 
grab, but did not get any. 

“You’re a regular — regular — porpoise,” she called 
him as she went back to her neglected spelling book. 
“I hope you’ll swallow it and choke — so! Here’s a 
word you can’t spell anyhow. Paralyze. If you try 
three times and can’t spell it, will you give me a 
piece?” 


TAKING TESTS 


161 


“Huh! You'd like to have me promise, wouldn't 
you? But I shan't, though I can spell it. It's dead 
easy. P-a-r-a-l-i-z-e." 

“There! that's one chance," counted Marjorie. 

“Well, then, p-a-r-e-l-y-z-e." 

“Nope." 

“P-a-r-y — pary — 1-i-s-e — lise." 

“Three times, Mr. Goodspeller. It's P-a-r-a-l-y-z-e, 
as plain as the nose on your face. Anybody ought to 
know that. Give me some gum now !" 

“Well, I should say not." Dick clapped a protecting 
hand over his mouth. “See any cucumbers sticking 
out of my pockets? I never promised, Missy." 

“No, but you ought to. I'd be ashamed to lie there, 
and chank it right in folks' face and eyes." 

“Shame is an unknown sensation," Dick told her. 
“Anyhow, I feel lovely when I'm ashamed." 

“No, you aren't ashamed. Some folks never are. 
It's a sign of depravity. If there's a boy in the world 
that's meaner than you are I'd like to know who lives 
with him. I know one thing, Dick Moxie, if you 
don't get a book and get to work instead of wasting 
hours over those Foxy Grandpa things, you'll think 
Foxy Grandpa about to-morrow morning. I wonder 
what test we'll have first ; probably arithmetic 
because I just do naturally hate it. Who cares how 
much a cistern so big holds or how long it is going 
to take to fill it at so much per minute! We'll never 


MARJORIE M0X1E 


1 62 

dig cisterns for a living, though you may if you don't 
get to work and brighten up your intellect. Now 
here's a problem: ‘If a sailor on deck walks five 
miles an hour, what is the rate of momentum ?' Who 
cares about anything like that, and anyway any sailor 
would be a fool that would do it. I'm not going to 
figure on anything so silly. 

“Here's another: ‘The shadow of a man six feet 
tall is eight feet, six inches; another man’s shadow is 
seven feet, nine inches. How tall is the latter ?’ 
wouldn’t a person be foolish to spend his life^figuring 
on shadows ? They are such uncertain things. Every- 
body knows that shadows aren’t anything to count 
on. It’s like the baby catching sunbeams. I can’t see 
the wisdom of getting prematurely gray over such 
things as. that. Now listen to this! ‘When green 
hams — ' Whoever heard of green hams. Did you, 
Dick Moxie? Did anybody? They’re always yellow 
till you undo them and then they’re brown. I guess 
the man that wrote this old arithmetic was green 
himself. Dick Moxie, what is a concrete number? 
I’ll bet you can’t say the table of apothecaries’ weight. 

‘20 grains 1 scruple, 

3 scruples 1 dram, 

8 drams 1 ounce, 

1 2 ounces 1 pound.’ 

Why do they call it apothecaries', anyhow? I sup- 
pose it was the hardest word they could think of. 


TAKING TESTS 


163 

What are teachers for anyhow, but to invent things 
that people can't answer. They are our modern 
instruments of torture. Name the modifications of 
the verb! Mode — mode — what is mode? Dick Moxie, 
I'll bet you can't tell what the Omnibus Bill was. Who 
fought at Antietam? Name the generals. I don't 
even know where Antietam was, do you? There's 
so many things. Name the Presidents in their order! 
Dick Moxie, you can't. They won't ask a thing about 
Foxy Grandpa. You’d better get to digging, young 
man. Can't you manage to chew without smacking 
so? It isn’t manners. It's horrid. I'd be a pig and 
done with. — And get your feet down, great muddy 
things!- You’re kicking right into mother's good 
table cover. There now! you choked. I'm glad you 
did. Honest Dick, is that the last chew you've got? 
Are you sure f I believe I could study better if I had 
some gum. It sort of keeps a person in motion. Oh, 
I don't see what's the use of having tests anyway. 
They don't help us any. They only just make us 
miserable." 

Marjorie looked serious the next morning as the 
papers were being handed around. She scribbled at 
the answers desperately. There wasn't any use fuss- 
ing. Arithmetic was a sort of a lottery; maybe you 
got it and maybe you didn’t; anyhow, there wasn't 
any use gnawing your lead pencil to the roots. The 
more she thought, the worse the men who could do a 


164 


MARJORIE MOXIE. 


certain piece of work in a certain time and the flag 
pole that cast a shadow so long got mixed up in her 
mind. Somewhere she had seen that example about 
the man, or was it horses; anyway the answer was 
eight days — or wasn’t it! Dear! Something was 
buzzing in her head. She couldn’t think. She put 
both hands over her ears and drummed with them as 
if to recall her scattered senses. Well, it didn’t matter', 
if she knew them, she knew them; if she didn’t, she 
didn’t. That’s all there was of it. And if she ever 
needed to use such things she would get an adding 
machine, yes, and a subtracting machine, and a mul- 
tiplying machine, and a dividing machine. Why not ! 
Did they make them, and if they didn’t, why didn’t 
they. Did anybody really understand cube root any- 
how! Did the man who invented it! Of course he 
didn’t. Who could! Such a lot of figures all jumbled 
together. Of course she wouldn’t stand anything. 
She never did in arithmetic. Arithmetic was here, 
and spelling was coming. Marjorie laid her head 
helplessly on the desk between intervals. She tried 
to think how to spell fuchsia. Was it f-u-s-c-h-i-a or 
f-u-c-h-c-i-a. She couldn’t remember for the life of 
her. 

Just before the gong sounded Professor Stoddard 
came down the aisle in response to a boy’s uplifted 
hand. The boy sat opposite Marjorie. It was some 
difficult problem that needed an explanation, and as 


TAKING TESTS 


165 

he stooped-to the task the professor laid his own book 
on Marjorie’s desk. It was a speller. From it fluttered 
a tiny white slip of paper; fluttered and fell, writing 
uppermost, at Marjorie’s feet. It held her vision like 
a magnet — One word below another, closely written, 
filling the page. — Long, difficult words — test words — 
like a flash the thought came. She began to spell 
them out — the first, “rheumatism,” the next, “neces- 
sary.” She saw the professor pick up his book and 
go, but she did not lift her voice to tell him of the 
fallen slip. Her cheeks flamed up with a sudden 
sense of guilt, still her eyes went on deciphering the 
third word, “gymnastics.” She put her foot on it 
desperately, still it did not cover the fourth nor the 
fifth, “asphyxia.” Oh, she never could have spelled 
that, nor “ptomaine.” With a sudden sinking qualm 
she stooped and picked the thing up. Oh, they were 
terrible words, terrible! — Worse than her wildest 
imaginations. — “Subterranean” and “esophagus,” yes 
and “carbonaceous” and “psychological.” She never, 
never, could have spelled them, never. 

Through all the recess she sat and studied with the 
slip hidden in the cover of her geography. Belinda 
Barks came and leaned over the desk confidentially; 
but Marjorie quelled her enthusiasm with one look. 
Such words, twenty of them, and each one worse 
than the last. Through them once, twice, three times. 
She began to feel a spark of reviving confidence. She 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


1 66 

felt that Professor Stoddard’s eyes were upon her 
curiously, still she kept on and on desperately, till the 
last moment of time had been consumed. Dick on 
the other side of the room had his spelling book out 
and was digging away like mad. The little of his 
cheek and ear that showed were crimson with exer- 
tion. Marjorie’s heart smote her with a mighty 
qualm. Dear faithful Dick! and he couldn’t spell 
a one of them; he just couldn’t. Neither could she if 
she were honest ; but she wasn’t. She was a horrible 
fraud. It was cheating. It was nothing short of 
stealing. Professor Stoddard had not meant them for 
her. No doubt she would be promptly expelled if the 
truth were known. She knew some girls who cheated 
at the examinations. They wrote history dates and 
names on their shirt-waist sleeves, and threw paper 
wads for help; but she had never been one of these. 
She had never thought to stoop so low; but now she 
was no better than the worst of them. If they could 
only see through the cover of her geography. 

When the return gong sounded she had every word 
on her tongue’s end from “rheumatism” down to 
“protoplasm,” which was the last. 

Overwhelmed with shame she carried her dog-eared 
speller up to the professor’s desk with the others 
This was one of the rules of the school that whenever 
a test was taken all the text-books upon the subject 
were carried to the rostrum. It was supposed to 


TAKING * TESTS 


1 6 7 


remove any temptation toward dishonesty; but it 
didn’t. Incapacity itself was a goad to dishonesty. 
The very fact that one ought to know and one didn’t. 
The disgrace of discovered ignorance. The unlauded 
virtue of common honesty. The coveted and delicious 
bit of praise at the end of a creditable showing, no 
matter how won. 

Marjorie’s cheeks burned and her head drooped 
guiltily as she drew out her white paper and made 
ready to write. A clean page to be blotted with such 
a sin. It seemed as though every one was looking at 
her. Every one knew. They could look right through 
down to her wicked heart. 

Then Professor Stoddard cleared his throat and 
began, “Guinea.” Marjorie’s head went up in a sud- 
den terrified alarm. Had she overlooked one. The 
next, “Phoenix.” Oh, oh ! Surely he must be making 
some mistake. Her mind seemed to have been swept 
a blank by one fell stroke. “Raisins.” Oh, raisins, 
raisins ! Surely she knew how to spell raisins ! Her 
hand seemed to be writing without any assistance 
from her dazed mind. “Phalanges.” Oh, she had 
never studied that ! — nor the next, nor the next. She 
had studied the wrong words. Oh, she had! She 
looked miserably over to Dick, who was pegging away 
with dogged determination, his contrary lock sticking 
stubbornly at angles. No doubt he would stand one 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


1 68 

hundred. She would fail. She ought to. It would 
serve her right. 

“Maneuvers.” She was sure to miss that one. Oh, 
how did one make the middle of it? Was it e-u or 
just u, or what? She twisted her hair till the ribbon 
came off and her forehead was puckered into a knot. 

“One hundred! Oh, Dick! I didn’t!” Marjorie 
snatched at the papers in Dick’s hand. Two days 
had passed and they were getting their returns. “Give 
me mine, quick! Are you sure it had my name on 
the back? ‘Marjorie Moxie,’ that’s me. Oh, Dick! 
you’re fooling. I failed.” She hesitated for one mis- 
erable moment before she undid the fold. “Oh, you 
didn’t! It is mine! One hundred! How could I?” 
Her face flashed into radiance. “What will father 
say? Perfect! Think of it!” For a moment she 
reveled in the delicious sensation of pride. 

“I didn’t do so very bad myself. Got ninety-eight. 
Fell down on ‘geyser’.” Dick displayed his own stand- 
ing with a certain mild complacency. “Ninety-eight 
isn’t so worse.” 

But Marjorie’s light had gone out. She sank down 
in a little withered heap on the school-ground walk. 
She was truly contrite now. She had done better than 
Dick and Dick was the faithful one. Dick deserved it. 
If she had been honest; but she hadn’t. She rubbed 
her cheek against his sleeve in abject humiliation. 


TAKING TESTS 


169 


Poor Dick! If she could only transfer to him the 
numbers, and 'the honor. Praise wouldn’t be. sweet 
unless it had been honestly earned. How could she 
ever sit and feel Father Moxie stroking her hair and 
bear him saying nice things while Dick took second 
place. She would rather it had been a zero; then 
she could have at least stopped deceiving folks and 
been honest from then on; now there wasn’t anything 
to do but to go right on being something that she 
wasn’t. She wanted to spell the words, she could 
even cheat to do that, but she didn’t want one hundred 
on her paper unless she had earned it. Conscience 
was a funny thing. One never knew until afterwards 
just how one was going to feel about it. 

She crept closer to Dick. There was a threadbare 
edge to his sleeve and she picked at the ravelings for 
an excuse to get hold of his hand and keep it. 

“If there was something — Oh, Dick!” At last 
conscience was paramount and insisted that she make 
amends. “If. you had meant to do something very 
wicked and hadn’t done it, but if you thought you had, 
and you wanted to do it, and did it a-purpose, only 
you didn’t because it was a mistake, — if you did some- 
thing too terrible for anything, and really deserved 
something terrible to happen to you and something^ 
good did instead, what would you think you ought 
.to do about it?” 

“I’d think you ought to be mightly grateful” Dick 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


170 

adjusted the matter promptly. “Why, what terrible 
thing have you done, Sis?” He pulled her serious 
face around and looked in it. “Bet I know ! Bet you 
bit on that same old bait, spelling list, didn't you? 
Professor Stoddard’s been scattering them all over 
the schoolhouse, I guess. I got one, and Noel Pixley 
got one, and — ” 

“Did you? Oh, Dick! Did it commence with 
'rheumatism’? Did you study it?” Marjorie’s 
hands came together in commiseration. 

“Course. And so did Thadd Visaw and Gus Jones 
and a dozen other fellows. Don’t look so down in the 
mouth. You’re not alone in the boat. I’ll bet there 
isn’t a one of the two dozen that picked up the slips 
trotted it up to Professor with their eyes shut. If 
he was looking for an honest student I don’t believe 
he found a one.” 

“No, he didn’t.” Marjorie’s tones were full of 
solemn tragedy. “It gives us something to think 
about. It teaches us a lesson.” 

“Yes, to look out for sucker bait. They won’t 
catch me again with that old worm.” 

“And something else,” Marjorie persisted. “Didn’t 
it give you a feeling in here — cheating, I mean? 
And, oh Dick, we coulcl have spelled them anyhow ! 
It’s always that way, isn’t it, Dick? If one only has 
confidence in oneself, one doesn’t need to cheat. And 
the only thing that will make a person ignore a thing 


TAKING TESTS 


171 

like that is to feel that we don't need it. I always 
knew I had it in me; but I never knew before how 
I could get above it. I hope every slip Professor 
Stoddard threw out not only located a thief but kept 
right on till it found the honest spot inside. Oh, do 
you suppose there is anybody in the world, Dick, who 
cheats just because they want to cheat?" 


CHAPTER XII 

DEVELOPING DICK'S TALENT 

"I wonder why they spend so much time trying to make people 
smart when so few people are!” 

“I suppose those are the rivers and mountains you 
are putting in now. Those two round holes up yon- 
der are lakes, aren't they. Sis?" 

“They're eyes, you goose. This isn't a map of 
South America; this is Professor Stoddard's picture. 
Doesn't it look exactly like him?" She held it at 
arm's length for inspection. “You know what a habit 
he has of rolling one eye? Well, isn't that it to a T? 
I've exaggerated his nose, of course. One always 
does in caricatures, and this is a caricature. I pride 
myself it maintains all the characteristic features. 
What are characteristic features ? — Eyes, nose, mouth 
and ears? Well, he has them all good and plenty. I 
saw to that, especially the mouth. Nature wasn't at 
all stingy with Professor Stoddard in the matter of 
a mouth. He needs a large one. A small one would 
get torn at the corners using such large words. His 
eyes are poppy; these are, only poppier. He has 
exactly three wrinkles running like highways across 
the broad and open stretches of his brow. I've counted 
them many a time, prospecting upon his family. Isn't 
172 


DEVELOPING DICK’S TALENT 173 

that a perfect dear of a wart? — I never knew that I 
could draw a wart before. — And those cute little 
crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes! I’ve exag- 
gerated them a little; but if there’s anything cute 
about a body, in a caricature you make it cuter, — 
if it’s pretty much, you make it more so. I call that 
pompadour a work of art. It looks exactly like a 
stubble field, and very invisibly through it, like a last 
year’s ground-bird’s nest, you discern Professor Stod- 
dard’s pet wen. I touched upon this point very del- 
icately you see! because it is a tender one. Only a 
few of us girls who have leaned over the banisters 
and seen him coming up, know about it. That’s why 
he combs his hair pompadour. He prides himself 
nobody knows. Verily, pride goeth about puffed up. 
Is that Scripture, Dick? I’m not up on Scripture as 
I should be. Some day I mean to spend a great deal 
of time studying the Bible. I feel that it will do me 
good. Haven’t I got his ducky little collar and rusty 
tie identical? I wonder if that’s the only tie he ever 
had? Nobody ever saw him in any other. It’s pos- 
itively shiny; but of course I can’t put that in the 
picture. I could make his trousers baggy at the knees 
though, and put stomach wrinkles in his vest; that 
is, I could if it was a full-length picture, but it isn’t, 
it’s a bust. Perhaps when I grow up I shall decide 
to be an artist. I have a leaning in that direction. 


12 


174 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


Don’t you think I have, Dick? Wouldn’t it be lovely 
to have people coming to sit for their portraits? 

'There now, Professor Stoddard! When I put a 
little shading around to make you stand out to my 
notion, you’ll be done; and a very fine-looking fellow 
you are, if you have got a wart on your chin. What’s 
that Riley says about the man in the moon: 

There's a boil on his ear and a corn on his chin, 

He says it's a dimple but dimples stick in ; 

Yet it may be a dimple turned over you know ! 

Whang ! Ho ! Why certainly so ! 

It may be a dimple turned over you know!’ 

Dick Moxie, give me a sheet of your paper! You’ve 
got a dozen and I didn’t have but one.” 

"Well! one would have been enough if you hadn’t 
wasted it drawing pictures. I wish you’d stop daub- 
ing ink all over the table. What are you doing?” 

"Picking flies out of the ink bottle; what do you 
suppose ! I s’pose you’d leave them to drown. Mean 
thing ! Make such a fuss because you get a little ink 
on your finger! How’d you like to drown in an ink 
bottle? I’ve been fishing after that one for an hour. 
See! he can’t hardly crawl. I wonder how it would 
feel to be pickled in ink. Besides, Dick Moxie, that 
paper isn’t wasted. Nothing is ever wasted that is 
used for the development of real genius. I call the 
making of a picture like that far more praiseworthy 
than an old copied map without a bit of originality 


DEVELOPING DICK’S TALENT 175 


in it. And anyhow that paper’s as much mine as 
yours. Father bought it. And I did start the map 
of South America. I meant it for that till I got down 
as far as his nose; then I saw the resemblance. It 
wouldn’t have made South America anyhow, for I 
forgot to put on the Isthmus of Panama. I guess 
one sheet of paper won’t kill anybody. Besides, it’s 
a nice picture, you know it is, yourself. You’re just 
jealous because you didn’t do it. Give me half this 
minute before I tell father! There! Now we’ll see 
who beats for all you’re so swift on foot. Huh! You 
have only got to the mouth of the Amazon. I’ll be 
across it before you can say Jack Robison.” She 
folded the caricature and thrust it into the stand 
drawer, straightway forgetting all about it. 

Dick toiled laboriously, putting in rivers and prin- 
cipal cities, long after she was gone. Drawing was 
a serious and trying procedure with him, and his sheet 
showed signs of much painstaking erasing and fill- 
ing in. Out on the lawn he could hear Marjorie 
racing from the very delight of being out of doors. 
Now she was sliding on the porch banister, now she 
was tossing one of the croquet balls. He could hear 
her singing: 

“Willy — O — Willy — O ! 

Harness your filly — O,” 

at the top of her voice. Her tasks were all over and 


176 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


there was still an hour before dark. Marjorie could 
do a lot of things in an hour. Now she was opening 
the shed for her daily visit with the Appetite. He 
heard the Appetite's delightful yelp of greeting, then 
the shed door slammed and all was still. 

Sitting flat on the floor with her cheek buried in 
shaggy fur, Marjorie was telling all the experiences 
of the day, in an effort to break up the dull monotony 
of the Appetite's existence. 

“ — And we might have taken a lovely, lovely walk 
in the park if it hadn't been for that old map. Maps 
are horrible things. I don't see any sense in drawing 
maps, though I did enjoy beating Dick. Poor dear! 
he will never be an artist, though he has the patience 
of Job. I am sure it would take a miracle to develop 
any sort of artistic talent in Dick, and isn't it strange 
he loves above all things to draw? Artists are born, 
not made. I've read that ; but if you go to school you 
have to draw a map whether you're an artist or not, 
and it doesn't matter the least in the world whether 
it looks more like an old setting hen than it does like 
South America. And you have to speak a piece 
whether you're an elocutionist or not, even if your 
voice sounds like a cracked teakettle. I always feel 
sorry for Lucinda Mugg when she gets up to speak. 
Her stockings are so long and are never mates, and 
she always mumbles through her piece so dejectedly, 
and I know she's thinking more about whether her 


DEVELOPING DICK’S TALENT 177 

petticoat shows than she is about what she is saying. 
I wonder why they spend so much time trying to 
make people smart when so few people are! 

“ Supposing I should try to make you into a lovely 
French poodle with curly ears! Your ears are lovely 
and long and so silky, I love to put my cheek against 
them; but they aren’t curly, not the least little bit in 
the world. I wonder how you would look with curly 
ears ! I’m going to bring Jane’s curling iron and see. 
Will you sit real still like a lovely lady and be made 
up? Will you, if I bring a looking glass and a beau- 
tiful blue ribbon to tie on your collar? You can be 
the grand Duchess So-and-So, and I shall be your 
artistic French maid, Lizette. I shall fix you up 
scrumptious. See if I don’t!” She sped away, and 
in a moment was back with the promised things. 

“Now look real pleasant,” she urged; “ — and you 
mustn’t get nervous if the iron is a little warm. I 
shall try not to burn you. You will look simply 
charming, and when we sail down the avenue all the 
dogs will take off their hats and make a big bow. 
Now there is one curl done already, and it’s a dear. 
Your hair is really beautiful, a lovely golden brown, 
if it was only curly so people could appreciate it. You 
ought to be willing to be made up every day if it 
only improves your appearance, for really you will 
never be courted for your beauty. Your nose is too 
long and you are too melancholy. I wonder why you 


i 7 8 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


are. You really ought to be cheerful. Some people 
pay a great deal of money to be fixed up like this, 
and here you are getting it for nothing. I couldn’t 
make nicer curls if I was making them for the Queen 
of Sheba. You hold still! I didn’t burn you. I had 
the comb right behind the curling iron and couldn’t. 
Here, Doggie! Here, Doggie!” She coaxed the 
Appetite out from behind Father Moxie’s fool chest, 
where she had taken refuge. 

“Of course, it isn’t exactly what you might call 
pleasant. Most things aren’t, that is, not until we 
get them done and see how perfectly lovely they are 
going to look. Think of me when Jane gets at me! 
Almost every day I have to go through this, and yet 
you aren’t willing to do it once; besides I’m not going 
to twist it up when I get through till your poor ears 
are all goose pimply. That’s what Jane does for a 
finishing touch. Supposing it was Jane had hold of 
you instead of me. Do you know what she’d do with 
you if you kept on squirming like that? She’d burn 
you, that’s what she’d do. I will. What are you 
whining about? Can’t you have a little patience? 
Come now! Don’t you want to be the Duchess of 
So-and-So and have curls and a beautiful blue ribbon ? 
Just look in the glass and see how lovely you are 
already. Three beautiful curls on one ear and none 
on the other. Now! — Real still! — It won’t take but 
a minute — It — ” 


DEVELOPING DICK’S TALENT 179 


But the Appetite had bolted for a crack of light in 
the shed door, the curling iron, wrenched from Mar- 
jorie's hand, swinging from one ear. She let a blood- 
curdling cry from her as she went, for the comb that 
was to have protected her had jingled to the floor. 
Marjorie sprang to the rescue, but too late, the 
Appetite was already making for the commons, howl- 
ing as she went. She seemed a dull yellow streak 
in the distance. Her cries roused all the boys in the 
neighborhood and they joined in the chase. 

“Catch her ! Catch her !" Marjorie shouted to them, 
but in the din no one could hear. Some men came 
out and waved their arms and cried, “Mad dog ! Mad 
dog!" and women and children scattered in every 
direction. 

“Oh, she isn't mad!" Marjorie screamed. “It's 
a curling iron! I burned her. Oh, stop her! Stop 
her! There isn't a thing the matter of her except 
one ear and that's probably burned off by now. Don't 
you smell it singeing? Stop her! I say, stop her!" 
But if any one heard they did not heed. The crowd 
was a mob now, armed with clubs. The Appetite was 
blocks ahead in a cloud of dust. Around the corner 
she went. Marjorie caught one glimpse. Oh, she 
was heading for home ! She was ! She ran through 
to Green Street. Yes, there she was. She had shaken 
the curling iron loose, and was slacking speed. Mar- 
jorie began to whistle, softly, seductively — a whistle 


i8o 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


that promised all sorts of juicy bones and delicious 
scraps. The Appetite had never been known to turn 
a deaf ear to such suggestions. She* came now with 
the frightened, sneaky wag of a beggar, and cowered 
at her mistress’ feet. Marjorie slipped a hand through 
her collar and turned to face the approaching mob. 
It was mostly boys ahead. She stamped her foot at 
them passionately. 

“What do you mean by scaring a poor dog to 
death? As if it wasn’t torment enough to have a hot 
curling iron fast in your ear without having a lot of 
great hoodlum boys howling at you! You go right 
straight home! You ought to be ashamed of your- 
selves. I guess if your ear was burned like that you’d 
have a right to be mad ; anybody would. 

“Never mind, you poor dear!” She consoled the 
Appetite all the way home. “You shall have some of 
mother’s lovely cold cream on it, and all, every bit, of 
my share of the delicious pressed chicken we are 
going to have for supper. And anyhow it’s nicer 
to be just plain dog than to be any Duchess So-and-So 
no matter how curly their ears are.” 

The next morning the second gong had sounded 
before Dick and Marjorie had set out for school. 
Marjorie’s ribbons were gone, and her school bag 
couldn’t be found, her lead pencil had to be sharpened, 
and worst of all she couldn’t find her map. She 
looked through the papers on the library table and in 


DEVELOPING DICK’S TALENT 181 


the dictionary, and ran through the geography for 
the dozenth time. She even took it by the covers and 
swung it so that all the loose leaves fell out. 

“I put mine where I knew where it was,” Dick 
boasted. 

“So did I; but ’tisn’t there. Somebody’s had it. 
A body never can find anything when you’ve been 
rummaging round. Oh, dear! there’s just ten min- 
utes more. Why don’t you help me find it instead of 
standing there like a stodden bottle! I always help 
you. Oh, never mind! It’s too late now,” as Dick 
made a move in her direction. “I’ve found it at last, 
horrid thing!” She lifted up the corner of the stand 
cover and disclosed it, neatly folded. She hurriedly 
scribbled her name across the corner. 

“Now hurry! Have you got your physiology? 
Where’s my handkerchief!” They made a race for 
it down the front walk. 

All the maps were to be left at the Professor’s 
desk. One student from the number was to be chosen 
to copy his work on the board to remain on until 
another year. It was considered an honorable 
distinction to be chosen for this performance. Mar- 
jorie was dumfounded to hear Dick’s name called, but 
no more' so than Dick himself. He went forward 
slowly, overcome with confusion. There was a 
twinkle in Professor Stoddard’s eye as he handed 
out the map. “Pretty well done, young man,” he 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


1 8 2 

praised. I think the school will enjoy seeing your 
work. Please copy it as nearly as possible, I should 
like to see it on the board just as you have it here. 
Right over there where all the school can seer He 
motioned to a prominent blackboard. 

Dick took his place with qualms of misgivings. It 
had taken him hours to do the map at home, and no 
one realized better than he its deficiencies. He saw 
his humiliation as he erased and remodeled and erased 
again. Then he unfolded the paper and stood looking 
down upon it with a horrified countenance. It was 
the caricature. Across the back of the sheet was his 
name written in bold letters. In small monogram in 
the corner, M.M.M., but the professor had not noticed 
that. For a moment he stood overwhelmed. He 
might take it to the professor and beg to explain; 
but what could he say, and then the small unobserved 
monogram would be discovered. “Marjorie May 
Moxie,” who else bore those initials? For only a 
moment he stood hesitating, then he lifted his hand 
and began to draw. 

Marjorie was watching him. Was Dick going to 
fail? Couldn’t he even copy the poor little map that 
looked more like a hen than South America? Yes. 
The crayon was commencing to move — slowly, very 
slowly — along the line of Venezuela — along the 
Guianas; but such a line. Where was Take Mara- 
caibo! What was that mountain! Oh! Oh! It 


DEVELOPING DICK’S TALENT 183 


wasn’t! It was! — A pompadour — a wen — Oh! Oh! 
Oh ! an ear — Professor Stoddard’s caricature — Her’s 
— not Dick’s — Horror wiped all else from her face. 
— Poppy eyes — and the three wrinkles, — Oh, and such 
a wart! 

Dick labored painstakingly to reproduce his copy. 
Never had he made such an effort. His face was 
scarlet, but he kept it close to the board. Only his 
ears, like two flaming poppies, stood out for all to 
behold, announcing his shame. He made the nose, 
sparing nothing from its ludicrousness. He placed 
the cute little crow’s feet in the corner of the eyes. 
Marjorie buried her face in her sleeves. Every one 
was laughing now and nudging his seatmate. Whis- 
pers ran round the schoolroom. Poor, poor Dick! 
Marjorie peeped out to see if he was dying of shame; 
then she watched him with fascinated eyes. He had 
folded the copy and put it in his pocket and was adding 
the finishing touches. Here a line and there a shadow. 
Stepping off now to see the effect; then going back 
and adding some more shadows. Every moment it 
grew more lifelike. One by one the school stopped 
laughing and began to watch him, too. When school 
was out they gathered around to congratulate him. 

“Thought ’twas only a joke at first, you know, old 
fellow, but say, it’s fine. When did you learn to be 
an artist, Dick?” 

“I’ve just had my first lesson,” Dick informed them. 


184 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Nothing like trying, you know. Some day perhaps 
I shall be a famous artist, thanks to my sister Mar- 
jorie.” He cast a sly grimace at her where she stood, 
flushed and waiting. 

“Don’t take it too hard, Sis!” he whispered as he 
linked arms with her in the hall. “Really, I didn’t 
mind after I got started; and perhaps, but for you, 
one of the bright lights might have been hidden under 
a bushel.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


AN UNFORESEEN EXTRAVAGANCE 

“Does anything in the world look better than pink lemonade 
on the Fourth of July?” 

“Ten and five are fifteen and one, two, three, four, 
five — twenty cents. How much have you got, Dick?” 

“Guess I’m about all in. Ed forgot all about the 
Fourth of July.” Dick turned his pockets wrong side 
out. Let’s see! Five, six, seven, and here’s a dime. 
Billy Leasor owes me a quarter. Guess I can scare 
up a half a dollar.” 

“Oh, Dick ! then if you’ve got so much you can buy 
the firecrackers. I want five cents for lemonade and 
an ice-cream cornucopia. I love those things. They 
always sell them if there’s a celebration. That only 
leaves me two rides on the merry-go-round. I can’t 
spend a cent for fireworks, honest I can’t. And I 
don’t see how I ever can live with just two rides and 
one lemonade. I don’t, really — and there’s popcorn 
and peanuts and taffy — pink — I’ve always bought 
pink taffy on the Fourth of July. I need a quarter 
more. I think perhaps I could get along with a 
quarter more, don’t you, Dick? Say three rides, one 
of them to be 'ocean wave.’ I’m going to ride one of 
the horses this time. Last year mother made me sit 
185 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


1 86 

in a seat; but I’m bigger this year, and there isn’t 
the least danger in the world of falling off, is there? 
It looks so grand to sit up there with your hair flying 
out behind. I know I should love to, it would give 
me such delicious creepy sensations. 

“Oh, do you s’pose they’ll have a Ferris wheel, 
Dick? I should dearly love above all things to ride 
in a Ferris wheel. If they have one I believe I would 
rather go without the cornucopia. After all it is 
foolish to spend money for such things, they are so 
soon over — the pleasure, I mean. Even an ice-cream 
cornucopia. Think how soon it melts! It is a ter- 
rible waste, and nothing lasts but the headache. I 
always think so when I am home ; but when I get there 
somehow I forget all about it. Everything looks so 
good. Does anything in the world look better, Dick, 
than pink lemonade on the Fourth of July? — anything 
unless it’s pink taffy, yards and yards of it on a 
platter? Wouldn’t it be lovely to be able to buy a 
whole platter at once? Wouldn’t you love to be the 
taffy man? Which do you think lasts longest, Dick, 
a ride or an ice-cream cornucopia? I don’t know, 
but I think that a ride makes the most impression 
while it lasts. Does it give you that funny feeling in 
the pit of your stomach? I’ll tell you what I’ll do, 
I’ll spend the rest on rides. I shan’t have such an 
appetite then. I shan’t mind not being able to buy 


AN UNFORESEEN EXTRAVAGANCE 187 

things. It’s a sickish feeling, but it's lovely. Oh! 
isn’t it wretched to be poor, Dick?” 

“I can get two bunches of firecrackers for a nickel,” 
Dick figured. “I’ll get three Roman candles. We 
ought to have at least six rockets. Rockets are best 
of all; but I want a pocket full of torpedoes to take 
down town, and a loaded cane.” 

“I’d love to have one of those streaked, red, white, 
and blue canes and a squawker,” Marjorie suggested. 
“Did you ever see a nigger baby fast to a rubber 
string, Dick? You can throw them ever so far and 
they bound back. They’re nice and so is a Happy 
Hooligan that runs out his tongue. I don’t know 
whether I’d rather have a Hooligan or a rubber pig, 
one of those that aren’t anything until you blow them 
up and then — they squeal. Oh, I’d dearly love to 
have one of those, they’re the dearest little pink 
things! Do you remember, Dick Moxie, when we 
used to get nigger-babv chewing gum ? Oh, I wonder 
why they don’t sell that kind now. They had a rub- 
ber string too. You could play with them a long time 
and then you could chew them, so you see they were 
profitable. I played with one a whole week once 
before I chewed him; made 9. little dress for him and 
everything. I always did regret chewing him, he 
was such a dear. Oh, whatever else we have, Dick, 
we must have some pin wheels ! It’s such fun to pin 
them to the gate.” 


1 88 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Well, I guess we’d better draw the line right 
there. I’ve got my pile about counted out. There 
might be some side shows a fellow’d want to get into. 
There’s going to be a balloon ascension.” 

“Oh, is there? Goody! Goody! I dearly love to 
see them. I hope it’ll be a lady. They’re so much 
more graceful. A man is all legs that soon fade into 
nothing. I like a lady with a short spangled skirt 
on — silver spangles. They look ever so much better. 
If I were going to ascend I believe I should wear a 
black velvet dress with a train all spangled with stars 
and a silver crown on my head. The train would 
sweep out beautifully into the air and could be seen 
miles and miles.” 

“Huh ! you might make a graceful ascent, but how 
about the descent!” Dick retorted. 

“Why not?” Marjorie questioned innocently. 

“Well, you try coming down out of the sky with 
forty yards of petticoat and see what luck you have !” 
was all the information Dick would proffer. 

“Well, I could all right,” Marjorie protested. 
“Anyhow I believe I should love to be an argonaut. 
What is it you call them, Dick? The feelings would 
be creepier even than riding a merry-go-round. It 
must cause a terrible sensation when one first 
commences to come down. I know I should laugh.” 

“I guess you would all right, out of the wrong 
corner of your mouth,” Dick prophesied. “There, 


AN UNFORESEEN EXTRAVAGANCE 189 

mother is calling you, Sis. You’d better skidaddle! 
I’ll bet you never touched your dishes and here you 
are out here sozzling around.” 

“I’d like to know if I didn’t. I’d like to know what 
business you’ve got calling them my dishes. Did I 
dirty any more of them than you did, Dick Moxie? 
Say! Didn’t you just come in and get a knife to 
pry out your old tacks, one of mother’s best silver 
ones, too, and didn’t you take one of the best china 
cups to make soap bubbles in? You’re always dirty- 
ing dishes and I have to wash them. They’re mine 
when I have to wash them, and they’re somebody 
else’s when I break them. ’Tain’t fair. I don’t see 
why you can’t wash them once in a while yourself 
when you’re always dirtying them. I’ll be glad when 
folks eat on chips. I don’t see any sense in forever 
washing dishes.” 

“If you’d dust around a little it wouldn’t be for- 
ever,” Dick suggested. 

“I guess I dust about as much as you do, lazy- 
bones. I’d sit there all day long and tinker with an 
old baseball cover if I were you. You’re always sick- 
ing somebody on to do something you wouldn’t do 
yourself,” Marjorie retorted, walking backward 
along the path, not to miss a return shot. “Come in 
and wipe them, won’t you ?” She paused on the step. 
“Please, pretty please.” But Dick remained obdurate. 

“I think it’s time you got at them,” Jane reproached, 

13 


190 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


as she came through the kitchen after the dustpan 
and Marjorie was just tying on her rubber apron. 
“I should have thought you would have hustled 
around this time if you mean to go.” 

“Don’t think!” Marjorie advised smartly. “It’s 
a waste of time.” 

“We were to have started at two. Mother’s busy 
sewing the sleeve in your white dress and lengthening 
the hem. Do .you even know you almost ruined that 
dress when you wore it the last day of school ! Mother 
oughtn’t to have let you wear it.” 

“I s’pose not. I ought to have gone naked. I’d 
like to know who could help tearing the sleeve out of 
anything that was four miles too small — not if they 
breathed. I s’pose you’d like to have me stop breath- 
ing, wouldn’t you? Well, I won’t, not if everything 
tears. I wish it would, then I could get a full breath. 
I haven’t had one in — in years. Your clothes are all 
a-plenty big for you, Jane Ann Moxie. You don’t 
have to wear left-overs.” She fired a parting reproach 
at Jane’s retreating figure. 

The dishes, once gotten at, were a small considera- 
tion. Marjorie went through them like a whirlwind. 
One upon another they rattled together merrily on to 
the shelf, stacks of them at a time. Marjorie never 
waited to straighten them. Too much was at issue 
to waste time straightening dishes. She was up- 
stairs in a jiffy rummaging through the closet for 


AN UNFORESEEN EXTRAVAGANCE 191 

her best shoes. Only one of them seemed to be in 
evidence. Something was always sure to be lost when 
people were in a particular hurry. She scattered boxes 
and bundles to right and left, then hobbled to the 
head of the stairs. 

“Jane! Oh, Jane!” she called down impatiently. 
“What did you do with my shoe? There isn’t but one 
to be found anywhere, and I know they both set just 
inside the closet door, side by side. Nobody ever can 
find anything after you sweep. Both my best stock- 
ings were in them. Jane! Do you hear? Where’s 
my shoe? I’m not going to stand round here on one 
foot all day.” 

“If you’d do more thinking you wouldn’t have to 
ask questions,” Jane reproved her from below. “I 
suppose you don’t remember firing it into the paper 
basket the other night ! It’s a good thing there’s one 
in the family who thinks. You ought to be more 
orderly. I’ve tried to break you of firing your shoes.” 

“Yes, I ought to be lots of things, but I’m not. 
I guess if you had been as sleepy as I was the other 
night, you would have fired them too. I only wonder 
I didn’t go to bed with them on.” 

She went and drew the missing shoe from among 
the papers. But the stocking was gone. She went to 
the bottom searching for it. There seemed to be a 
dim remembrance of having torn the leg of an every- 
day stocking and of substituting a best one without 


T 92 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


any advice from mother. No doubt it was down in 
the clothes hamper, dirty. Something always was 
somewhere. Probably now she would have to go with 
one stocking. 

She fished a handful of things from the closet and 
came out to the light to examine them. There was 
one. It seemed a little large ; but then it took almost 
as large stockings for her as it did for Jane. To be 
sure, she had found it near Jane’s shoes; but then if 
it had been Jane’s it should have been inside. That 
was the place for stockings, and anyhow in such an 
orderly person as Jane. She held it up to the one 
she had on. Yes, it matched. It was hers, or if it 
wasn’t — Jane had bushels of stockings. She never 
had but one pair and sometimes she didn’t have them. 
It looked all right. She smoothed her slim legs com- 
placently. When Jane came up she was polishing her 
shoes, sitting flat on the floor with her sleek stock- 
inged feet before her. “What’s the reason they don’t 
shine ! I’m sure I scrub them hard enough,” she com- 
plained. 

“You mustn’t dig into the blacking like that, Mar- 
jorie. Mother doesn’t allow it; besides it spoils your 
shoes. Stop now, I said! Mother! Marjorie’s dig- 
ging the box of blacking all up.” 

“I’m not either. I haven’t used but just a little 
mite. I’d like to know how anybody’s going to black 
shoes without blacking! I didn’t dig that great hole, 


AN UNFORESEEN EXTRAVAGANCE 193 


so now! Dick did it. I get blamed for everything, 
if there’s a hole that oughtn’t to be, or if there isn’t 
a hole that ought to be. It’s nice to have some one to 
lay things to. I’d like to see you make ’em shine if 
you didn’t use any more blacking than I did. Dick 
and I are going on ahead. We’re not going to wait 
for you slow pokes. I’m ready now as soon as mother 
ties this ribbon on my hair and buttons my dress. 
Oh, Jane! can’t I wear your crescent pin? I haven’t 
got a thing. You’ve got lots of jewelry. I never 
have any.” 

“I wouldn’t either if I lost something every time 
I turned around. Come here and let me pin it then, 
and don’t you dare to touch it till you get home. I 
said when you lost the ring I’d never let you wear 
anything again. I ought not to.” 

“I won’t touch it, Jane; honest, cross my heart! 
Oh, where’s my little flag? I’m going to pin that on 
my shoulder. There! Don’t I look patriotic?” 

“Be careful now, children,” Mother Moxie called 
from the bedroom window. “Don’t get too close to 
anything, and keep out of the jam! You might get 
hurt.” 

“Somebody might swallow one of your tootsy- 
wootsy-teenty-weenty-wupsies. We’ll be careful, 
mother,” Marjorie called over her shoulder. 

The streets were indeed festive with gay Fourth of 
July crowds, already gathered. Streamers of national 


194 


MARJORIE M0X1E 


bunting sailed out of the windows and decorated store 
fronts. Every house in town was celebrating. Every 
nook and cranny was filled with booths; the vacant 
lots swarmed with attractions of all sorts. Over the 
commons an imposing trapeze had been suspended 
and already there was a gleam of scarlet tights and 
silver spangles mid-air. Marjorie squeezed Dick’s 
arm appreciatively. 

“What shall we do first, Dick? Let’s — let’s eat 
something ! I feel like it, don’t you ? Where are the 
cornucopias, I wonder! Where is the taffy man! 
Oh, here’s some crackerjack! Let’s get that — a box 
between us! Crackerjack is so — so satisfying. Oh! 
see that big crowd on the corner ! I wonder what it 
is. Let’s go over!” 

“Right this way is where you see the greatest sight 
on earth. A wild girl from the jungles of Africa, 
half beast and half human. Come right along ! Only 
ten cents shows you this wonderful sight! Worth 
more than all other side shows! Human head and 
a wild beast body! Hear her raving inside and tear- 
ing her long shaggy hair ! Who wouldn’t give a dime 
to behold Madgar, the wonder of the ages !” 

“Oh, Dick! Isn’t she terrible! terrible?” Marjorie 
stood spellbound before the flaming poster. “Oh! 
Oh! Look at her teeth. She could eat a man up just 
as easy. Do you suppose she does tear her hair? I 
should think she would tear it all out. Look at her 


AN UNFORESEEN EXTRAVAGANCE 195 

hands ! Aren’t they simply fierce? Oh ! I wouldn’t 
see her for anything, would you, Dick?” Marjorie 
felt of the few coins tied in her pocket kerchief. Some 
one else was calling. 

‘‘Right this way is where you see the petrified man 
— apparently all stone, yet he lives, breathes, and 
speaks. Walk right in! Any one has the privilege 
of examining him and seeing for themselves. Feel 
of him if you wish! You will find his hands like 
blocks of solid rock. Takes ten men to lift him. Don’t 
miss this golden opportunity to see the marvelous pet- 
rified man! Only a dune! Only a dime, ladies and 
gentlemen! Walk right in!” Dick dragged her 
reluctantly along, past lunch counters, past lemonade 
stands. Oh, how good it did look ! And orange cider 
in a great big jar! She pinched Dick entreatingly. 

“Shall we drink ours now?” she whispered. “Oh, 
Dick ! we never will find such beautiful pink ! Do you 
s’pose it’s the color that makes it look so d^-licious? 
Oh, Dick! we’re clear past! Why not! Let’s go 
back!” But Dick shook his head. 

“You aren’t going to set out to eat everything in 
sight, are you? I. should say not. You’re a regular 
Rube.” 

“I’m not. You’d like some yourself; you know you 
would. Oh, see those slices of watermelon! Don’t 
they look — appetizing? It’s the first watermelon I’ve 
seen this year. I dearly love watermelon, Dick. 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


196 

There ! The band is playing. I wonder where it is ! 
Let's go. Oh, Dick! Hurry! Run! I'd rather hear 
the band than anything. We're missing it, and it's 
‘A Hot Time.' Oh, I dearly love to hear them play 
that ! There isn’t anything that gives me such a feel- 
ing. I — I feel like feathers — or — or thistle-down 
— as though I was going to blow away in a minute. 
Oh, Dick! does it make you feel as though you were 
going to blow away? Really, a band and a few flags 
and a little pink lemonade make a Fourth of July all 
by itself, don't they?" 

“Just inside is where you see the smallest horse 
on the earth, Tetra, the toy wonder. Only three 
hands high, and can add, subtract, and multiply. — 
Knows her age and can tell you the time of day. — So 
tiny that a small boy's cart serves as a wagon. Do 
not fail to see this greatest of all marvels, the educa- 
ted toy horse. Come on now ! Right this way ! Ho ! 
ladies and gentlemen, to-day we are exhibiting the 
greatest wonder of the age — " 

“Here we have to show you the fattest woman that 
ever lived, a veritable mountain of flesh, weighing 
four hundred and seventy-five pounds, measuring sev- 
enty inches around the waist. Such a sight has never 
before been seen. Walk right in and see for your- 
selves, ladies and gentlemen. Modesto, the mountain 
of flesh, will entertain you. She sings, talks, laughs, 
and dances, and is perfectly healthy. Right here is 


AN UNFORESEEN EXTRAVAGANCE 19 7 


where you see Modesto, the fattest woman on earth.” 

“I’d love to see the horse. He must be a darling,” 
Marjorie suggested, eyeing the tent wistfully. “How 
little do you s’pose he is, Dick? — as big — as — as the 
Appetite?” But Dick ignored her questions man- 
fully. 

“I don’t want to see the fat woman. I wouldn’t for 
anything. She must be wretched. Think of never 
being able to get rid of it — the fat I mean ! Oh, I’m 
sure the petrified man must be more comfortable. 
Think how much there is of her to be miserable. It 
would take her a long time to get over it. Would you 
give ten cents to see her, Dick? I wouldn’t.” 

“I should say not.” Dick was scornful. 

“But of course the little horse is dififerent. Horses 
are cute. Did you ever see a horse who could count, 
Dick? What’s the reason everything is ten cents? 
Why couldn’t something be five?” 

“Just because,” was Dick’s explanation. 

Marjorie went on a few steps in silence before she 
resumed the subject. 

“How little was the littlest horse you ever saw, 
Dick? Mustn’t a little teenty-weenty bit of a horse 
look cute?” But all her efforts failed to interest Dick 
in small horses. 

They listened to the band, and a tall man with red 
whiskers making a Fourth of July speech; then they 
went in search of the merry-go-rounds. They found 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


a jolly one, all red, white, and blue streamers and 
the dearest little calliope playing a tune while you 
swung. Marjorie clambered up beside Dick on a 
prancing gray steed, delightedly. Oh, this was worth 
while! They were moving. Oh, they were! She 
tightened her hold of the bridle, and her eyes grew 
bright and dark with excitement. Her cheeks were 
red. Her hair streamed madly out behind, fluttering 
its crimson ribbon. 

“Hang on!” Dick kept admonishing her with 
manly superiority. “Don't fall!” 

“Oh! I could ride forever and forever,” Marjorie 
whispered over her shoulder. “Isn't it lovely, Dick? 
Doesn't it make you want to laugh ? Oh-h-h !” She 
held her breath in one long ecstatic exclamation. 

“Oh, I'm so glad I didn’t spend a dime to see the 
little horse. After all, I could only have seen that with 
my eyes and I can feel this clear to my toes. Feeling 
takes in more of you. Wouldn’t it be lovely if the fat 
woman could ride, there'd be so much of her to enjoy 
it! Oh, it can’t be stopping! It hasn’t been going 
but just a minute. Do you think something is broke, 
Dick, or is it really stopping ? It can't be he isn't 
going to let us ride any more. He isn’t? Oh, Dick! 
I haven't had half enough.” 

They got off reluctantly. Three little girls stood 
watching them, three little girls with wistful eyes. 


AN UNFORESEEN EXTRAVAGANCE 199 


Marjorie spied them. She nudged Dick sympathet- 
ically. 

“They didn’t ride,” she whispered tragically. They 
weren’t even dressed up. Their hairs were all braided 
in little pigtails and tied with carpet rags. They 
stood watching the seats fill up again. Marjorie 
looked at them commiseratingly. 

“Do look at them, Dick!” she entreated. “Look 
at their eyes! Oh, it must be awful to want to and 
not. I’ll bet they haven’t had any taffy or any lemon- 
ade or anything, and they can’t ride. It must be 
terrible to come to the Fourth of July and not have 
a thing. Do you think you could bear it if it was you ? 
You know you couldn’t. I couldn’t. I’m going to 
speak to them.” She did. She put her arms around 
the very littlest, the one with the littlest pigtail, and 
the dingiest carpet rag. 

“Oh, don’t you little girls want to ride? Wouldn’t 
you love to?” she questioned. 

“Yes, ma’am,” came in chorus from the three. 

“Did you ever have a ride on a merry-go-round?” 

“No, ma’am,” promptly. 

“Dick, did you hear that?” She turned upon her 
brother. “I’m going to buy them tickets, I am. There 
isn’t any bats in the case. I’m going to, that’s all 
there is of it. Supposing you were a little girl and 
had never rode. Come on, girls!” She urged them 
all to the stand. 


200 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Three tickets, please,” she said to the man inside. 
She untied her handkerchief corner and took out the 
three remaining nickels. “Now be sure to hang on!” 

“Oh, Dick! See them! Hear them laugh! See 
their eyes ! Isn’t it worth while? Isn’t it worth twice 
as much? Three of them and all happy at once! 
Oh, Dick!” Then it dawned upon her suddenly that 
all her money was gone, and she hadn’t had a bit of 
pink taffy, nor a cornucopia, nor even one glass of 
lemonade, and she didn’t have a squawker, nor a 
Fourth of July cane. Her face fell. 


CHAPTER XIV 


TAKING IN THE TRIMMINGS 

“It’s lovely to be perfectly satisfied, isn’t it, even if it makes 
you miserable?” 

Marjorie tucked her empty kerchief out of sight. 
There wasn't any use hanging on to it now. No one 
would rob her. She hadn’t anything to be robbed of, 
not a cent to bless herself with. On all sides people 
were crying wonderful things that took money. Mar- 
jorie walked in their midst dejectedly. She couldn’t 
even enjoy seeing them now, as she could when she 
had money and knew that she could buy them if she 
wanted to. It made such a difference. It hadn’t 
seemed to matter at all when she knew that she could 
whether she did or not. She could go by just as 
easy, and the man who was crying things was a man 
who wanted her money and she wasn’t at all sure that 
she should give it to him; but now he 'seemed to be a 
very different person, having to give or withhold all 
good things. He wasn’t begging people to drink 
lemonade any more, not unless they had money. It 
seemed as though every one must be seeing the little 
empty kerchief tucked in her sleeve. 

And there was a Ferris wheel. Such a perfectly 
delightful one. Little red, white, and blue cars going 


201 


202 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


up and down all the time. People inside were shouting 
and waving their handkerchiefs. Oh, it must be such 
fun to go up! But she wasn’t going. She wasn’t 
going to do anything but mope around and see other 
folks having all the good times. 

Yes, and an ocean wave, and dozens and dozens 
of squawker stands, and everybody had a cane. What 
dear little bows of ribbon were tied on the crooks ! — 
And a cornucopia stand. Hundreds of people were 
eating cornucopias. There was a little girl over there 
with a red parasol who was eating one, and that boy 
had two, one in each hand. Oh! if she just had a 
bite she would be satisfied; but who would give her 
one? Nobody. — Not even a little weenty piece of pink 
taffy for the Fourth of July. Never in her life had 
she seen red, white, and blue taffy ; but they had it, 
whole platters of it, just the beautifullest kind. 
Watermelon stands — “Oh, Dick! do you hear? 
They’re selling it for a penny — a penny a slice. — Great 
big slices. Did you ever hear of selling watermelon 
for a penny? It’s the kind I like best, just great 
frosted pink hearts. There, that boy’s buying some. 
Oh, Dick ! he’s eating two slices !” 

Anyhow it didn’t cost to see the races. Dick and 
Marjorie wqre there. It was a wonder it did not cost 
for that too; it cost for everything else. Probably 
they wouldn’t amount to anything, nothing ever 
did that was free. — Just something to keep people 


TAKING IN THE TRIMMINGS 


203 


standing around on one foot. She was so tired of 
standing. Why couldn’t they furnish seats if they 
wanted people to look at their old races? 

The three little girls came and stood near. They 
were looking for something free, too. Something in 
the sight of their little tan pigtails and sagging skirts 
irritated Marjorie beyond endurance. She nudged 
Dick to move along. Of course she was glad that they 
had ridden, but they had done it now and ought to be 
satisfied. They needn’t come standing around under 
her nose and eyes to remind her. She had enough 
perfectly miserable things to think of. 

She would like to know what was the matter with 
the old races anyhow. It was two o’clock. Nobody 
seemed to be getting ready. She didn’t believe there 
were going to be any. There wasn’t a thing to see 
but a silly man tumbling over the trapeze. He 
couldn’t do anything smart either. She didn’t see as 
there was anything especially amusing in a man tying 
himself in a knot, but Dick seemed to be .perfectly 
fascinated. 

A boy elbowed through the crowd carrying a huge 
server loaded with glasses of lemonade. Marjorie 
tossed her head in haughty defiance of him, though 
the sight of the cool refreshing beverage added to her 
misery. She was choking — choking. She had been 
for hours. What business had they to come sticking 
it right under a body’s nose ? Couldn’t people go after 


204 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


it if they wanted it? She ought to just snatch a 
glass and drink it, ’twould • serve them right. She 
would if they came flaunting it past again. See if she 
didn’t! His cheerful cry of “lemo, lemo, lemo, five 
cents a glass,” rang over the grounds. Marjorie 
pinched Dick savagely. 

“I wish he’d shut up. A body can’t hear themselves 
think. What are they calling now? Why don’t the 
races begin ! I don’t believe there’s going to be one. 
Dick, do you s’pose we could find a well? I can’t 
stand it another minute.” 

She dragged him reluctantly away from the 
entrancing trapeze performer. They crossed an open 
space and then climbed a little fence. A man 
motioned them back, but they went on heedlessly — 
past several sheds where things were stored — past a 
pen. Marjorie peeped in curiously. 

“Oh! Oh, Dick! there’s a pig in here and a man. 
He’s rubbing something on him. What is it? Look, 
quick! Oh, Mister! Look out! you’ll get it in his 
eyes!” She waved both her hands protestingly, but 
the man who was doctoring the pig only grinned 
sardonically over his shoulder, and went on anoint- 
ing. In vain Marjorie stamped her small foot. 

“There! you’ve got it in. I s’pose you’re satisfied. 
Why don’t you let him go! Don’t you hear him 
squealing? What is it anyhow?” 

“Soft soap,” said the man, grinning harder than 


TAKING IN THE TRIMMINGS 205 

ever. “Bet they’ll have fun catching him. It’ll be 
interesting.” 

“Yes, no doubt, especially for the pig. You’re a 
horrid, mean man. How’d you like to have soap in 
your eyes? Why didn’t you grease him with fresh 
butter, or — or cold cream!” 

“Yes, I suppose I ought ‘to have perfumed him up, 
and tied pink ribbons on him, hadn’t I?” 

“But soft soap! I should think you’d be afraid 
’twould take the hair off. You might at least have 
used lard, seeing as he has to be made into it some 
day. It seems awful to be full of lard for somebody 
else and then have to be greased with soft soap. 
Doesn’t it seem just a little — little ungrateful?” 

“ ’Tain’t my pig,” growled the man getting sullen. 
“Why should I care whether the hair comes off or 
not? Anyhow, pigs can’t feel. What you giving us !” 

“Can’t feel!” Marjorie was all indignation. 
“What’s the reason they can’t! They’re flesh and 
blood, ain’t they? If they can’t feel what makes ’em 
squeal so? I don’t know as being four-legged makes 
any difference with a body’s feelings. Most two- 
legged pigs feel, don’t they?” She gave this last 
retort with all the sarcasm she could summon, then 
she went over and whispered to Dick. “What a 
perfectly horrible, horrible man.” 

“When are the races going to commence?” Dick 
ventured. 

14 


206 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Right now, as soon as I bag this feller and take 
him over to the grand stand. You two going to run?” 

“Hadn’t thought of it,” Dick returned. 

“Well, it’ll be a dead walk-away. There’s a girl’s 
race, a dollar up to the winner. That little spitfire 
can run, I’ll bet a button. Here’s a program tells all 
about it.” He drew a soiled slip from his blue jumper 
pocket. Marjorie and Dick went over and sat down 
on the grass to study it. 

“Fat men’s race, two dollars.” It was hard to get 
fat men to exert themselves. 

“Sack race, one dollar.” 

“Doughnut-eating contest, fifty cents.” 

“Girls’ race, one dollar.” 

“Oh, Dick! think of it! A whole dollar!” A dol- 
lar would buy lots of things. Just now she felt sadly 
in need of them — lemonade and cornucopias and rides. 
Oh, if she couldn’t ride once on the Ferris wheel she 
would never get over it, never! Think! A Ferris 
wheel and an ocean wave and never to ride on either 
one! A whole dollar — twenty rides! Think of it! — 
or say, ten rides and ten something else. That would 
be lemonade, and a cornucopia, and a delicious slice 
of watermelon, and some pink taffy, and a squawker, 
and a cane, and some peanuts, and an orange, and 
then some left for some more lemonade and cornuco- 
pias if she wanted them, or perhaps watermelon. It 
wouldn’t be anything at all to run. She could run 


TAKING IN THE TRIMMINGS 20 7 


just as easy. Didn’t she run miles and miles every 
day just for fun? At school she could outrun all the 
girls. There wouldn’t be any question about her 
beating. It wasn’t as though she didn’t just love to 
do it. And it wasn’t any disgrace to run, father said 
so. It was healthy. If a body could run for fun, how 
much faster could they run for a dollar — a whole dol- 
lar, and on the Fourth of July! 

The fat man’s race had been called. Every one was 
moving forward now. Dick and Marjorie ran. There 
were three of them, all blowing and breathing heavily, 
even before they began. They had taken off their 
coats and hats and laid them on the grass. Once they 
started and were brought back. A man was shouting 
directions. There! They were off! My! how the 
dust flew! The one with the pink shirt was ahead. 
He seemed to roll along like a big balloon. There! 
Pinky was getting winded. The big stripe-shirted 
fellow in the middle was gaining. He pawed the air 
wildly with his pudgy hands and the crown of his bald 
head blazed scarlet in the sunshine. He was even. 
Now he was a pace ahead. Oh ! he was beating, beat- 
ing! Marjorie clapped her hands. In vain poor Pinky 
tried to overtake him. It was of no use. He was 
very fat, and his wind was gone. Anyhow, Stripey 
would have to treat with the two dollars, there was 
some satisfaction in that. He sat down helplessly on 
the grass and some ladies came over and fanned him. 


208 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


No doubt it was his wife or his mother or maybe his 
sisters, and they were afraid he was going to burst. 
He looked as though he might. Oh, it was exciting ! 
Everybody was congratulating the man in the striped 
shirt who had won the stakes. No one seemed to be 
paying any attention at all to the poor man who had 
been handicapped by bandy legs and couldn't have 
beaten no matter how hard he had tried. It didn't 
look fair, it seemed as though he needed consoling. 

A man came hurrying across the commons with an 
armful of sacks. The sack race was coming off next. 
Yes, already he was tying boys into them. The band 
was playing, too. It was jolly. One, two, three, four, 
five were going. “Oh, Dick! it must be terrible, 
terrible, to race without any feet," Marjorie gasped 
as she watched them starting. They plunged, they 
wallowed, now one was down, now two. They were 
up again. One very little fellow got all tangled up 
and dived face foremost into the dust. When he 
found his equilibrium again the others were a pace 
ahead. 

“Oh, isn't it too bad? He doesn't stand any show 
at all," Marjorie lamented. But the little fellow, with 
a sudden burst of genius, had ducked down and gath- 
ered the bungling sack up between his legs. They 
were very short legs. The sack made him a pair of 
funny little breeches. Gripping the center firmly he 
started to run. The canvas sack was no longer any 


TAKING IN THE TRIMMINGS 


209 


obstacle to him. He passed the others like a flash 
and was away — away. The crowd burst into a loud 
roar of applause. Before the others could fully com- 
prehend what it was that he had done, he had reached 
the goal and claimed the stakes. Marjorie danced up 
and down excitedly. 

“Wasn’t he the dearest little fellow? Wasn’t he 
pretty? Wasn’t he brave? Once he was down. I 
thought they were going to leave him behind. Oh, 
Dick! don’t you love to see the littlest one win? 
Didn’t those big, burly fellows look silly, to be beaten 
by a baby? They’d like to have trounced the little 
chap ; but he’s got the money. There ! he’s going with 
it. Oh, I do hope he’ll have just the beautifullest 
time.” 

Then came the doughnut-eating contest. A pair 
of stakes were set up and a wire run from one to the 
other; dangling from this were five strings, each 
holding a doughnut, securely tied. Five boys were 
going to eat. They came running into the ring, full 
of enthusiasm, and stood in a row while the man tied 
their hands behind them. Some of the doughnuts had 
to be lowered to bring them in line with the boys’ 
mouths, then they were ready to begin. 

“How can they eat without hands?” Marjorie whis- 
pered. “Oh, Dick! See them bob!” In and out, 
and back and forth. How the crowd roared. It 
was funny. Now some one got hold of his doughnut 


210 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


and took a big bite; but it was away again, bobbing 
fantastically in the air. One fellow’s doughnut broke 
down and had to be tied up again. A little boy in 
a red cotton sweater choked over a mouthful of his. 
The more eager and impetuous the eaters became the 
faster the doughnuts bobbed about. A part of one 
fellow’s doughnut fell loose and he put his foot on 
it and ground it into the dust. A shout went up from 
the others and he was ruled out. At last one fellow 
finished and they led him away triumphant, his face 
all greased with crumbs. 

Marjorie had forgotten all about the girls’ race. 
She was shouting and laughing merrily, and thinking 
how funny it would be to eat a doughnut that way, 
and mentally planning an individual contest to be 
held in the barn without any audience, when she 
heard them calling it. 

“The next thing on the program is the girls’ race. 
One dollar will be given to the winner. All ready 
now for the girls’ race!” 

“Oh! do you hear, Dick? They’re calling it. I’m 
going! I’m going! Hold my hat?” She thrust it 
upon him. “Now cheer, Dick Moxie! I’m going to 
win, do you hear? There isn’t any maybes. I’m 
going to. Don’t you dare not to believe it !” 

Three other girls had already taken their places. 
Marjorie sized them up. Some of them seemed to be 
runners all right. Her heart felt a sudden qualm, 


TAKING IN THE TRIMMINGS 


211 


but she stiffened for the effort. She was going to 
beat them. She meant to. No one had ever beaten 
her in a race before ; they shouldn't now. “One, two, 
Go!” They were off at the first start. Oh, how that 
tall girl with the white stockings did run ! One — two 
— three bounds and it seemed she was halfway across 
the field; but Marjorie was hot upon her. All the 
vim and energy of her nature sprang to the rescue, 
and the tall girl wasn't going to hold out. Oh, she 
wasn't! She was losing now. She felt a click from 
the tall girl’s flying slipper. There ! She could touch 
her. She was gaining. She was going to win. Dick 
was cheering. Oh, why didn't he cheer louder, louder, 
louder ? She strained every muscle to a last supreme 
effort and came up abreast. The tall girl cast one 
apprehensive glance over her shoulder. She had 
been so sure of winning. Her cheeks went white, 
and she weakened. Marjorie saw it. Oh, she was 
passing her, passing! She was going to win. Dick's 
cheering was lost in the volley of applause. It came 
from every side. Hats went up in the air, and people 
shouted. Marjorie was intoxicated. Behind she 
could hear her opponent panting heavily. She couldn’t 
go much farther. She was winded. Dick was at the 
grand stand waiting for her. He waved her hat in 
congratulation. Marjorie threw herself upon him 
excitedly. 

“Oh, Dick! I won it! It's mine! Wasn't that 


212 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


girl a runner? But she couldn't beat me. I said I 
would win, didn't I ? Did you watch me, Dick. Did 
I go fast? Oh, Dick! a whole dollar ! Whatever will 
we do with so much money?" She stood looking at 
the prize in her hand. 

“Why, spend it, of course. Why not? I guess 
you need it all right." He fanned her. 

“Yes, I do. I guess I'll have a lemonade first." 
She looked all around. “Do you see any of those 
lemonade boys? It's funny they're never around 
when you want them. I could drink gallons and 
gallons of lemonade." 

“Well, you'd better save a little room for some- 
thing else." 

“That's so. There are so many things. Think of 
spending a whole dollar just for nothing! Doesn't 
it seem extravagant?" 

“Well, you've been wanting to long enough." 

“Yes, I do want to, that's the worst of it. I want 
to ever and ever so much. I can hardly wait to begin. 
We'll see the little horse and maybe we’ll see the fat 
woman. I wouldn't mind seeing her, not if I had lots 
and lots of money, would you, Dick? Would you 
care anything at all about seeing the petrified man? 
I believe we ought to do a few other things first; but 
a dollar is a great deal of money." 

“I guess we'll just begin at one end and take in 
the trimmings," Dick suggested. 


TAKING IN THE TRIMMINGS 213 

“Oh, yes! let’s do. We won’t skip a thing.” 

“No, we won’t.” They locked arms. Oh, it was 
jolly, jolly! They swung, they ate, they drank, they 
squawked their enthusiasm through two of the most 
outlandish squawkers money could buy. The boweries 
were open now, great green canopies under which 
people were dancing to lovely music. Everything 
smelled of new pine boards and cedar boughs and 
popcorn. Oh, how good fresh buttered popcorn 
did smell! All the men had sacks of popcorn for 
their ladies, and some had lovely pink and white pop- 
corn balls. Dick got a sack for Marjorie and they 
sat on one of the benches side by side and ate out of 
it and watched the dancers. Pretty rosy girls in 
white dresses with bunches of old-fashioned country 
posies in their belts, were fanning themselves with 
red, white, and blue tissue-paper fans, and laughing 
and seeming to enjoy themselves immensely. Young 
fellows were getting in fancy steps between calls. The 
sound of their stamping feet over the rough floor 
was fascinating. 

“Oh, Dick !” Marjorie whispered. “I wish we could 
dance, don’t you ? When we get older we will, won’t 
we?” 

“I’ll be dancing with some other fellow’s sister 
then,” Dick tormented her. 

At five they watched the balloon go up. At six 
they sat on little stools before a booth drinking a final 


214 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


glass of lemonade. They were too tired to stand. 
Marjorie had lost her crimson ribbon. Her hair was 
full of confetti. She had tossed a dozen packages 
herself. She leaned heavily against one of the tent 
supports and sighed. She had been having a per- 
fectly lovely time. She slipped her hand through 
Dick's arm. 

“I couldn’t hold another bit of happiness,” she con- 
fessed. “If I had another nickel I — I believe I should 
save it. It’s lovely to be perfectly satisfied, isn’t it, 
even if it makes you miserable ? I don’t know what I 
should have done if mother hadn’t let out the band 
to this dress. Oh, there she is this minute ! Mother ! 
Mother !” She was into the crowd like a flash. “Wait 
for us! Oh, mother! Father! Jane! Here we are! 
Oh, where have you been? We’ve been looking for 
you all over.” And so had father and mother been 
looking for them. 

“I was afraid something had happened to you.” 
Mother Moxie expressed her anxiety. 

“And so there has. Everything happened. We’ve 
done everything that’s worth doing. We’ve seen the 
tiny horse, and had two, three, four rides. Oh, the 
Ferris wheel was lovely, lovely! And we’ve eaten 
and eaten and eaten.. And, oh! I’m so tired! — And 
aren’t we going home now? Wouldn’t it be lovely if 
there were street cars to take you right to the door? 
I don’t see how I can ever walk. — And I don’t regret 


TAKING IN THE TRIMMINGS 215 


a thing unless it’s that last slice of watermelon. It’s 
a funny feeling, I guess it’s regret; anyhow, I believe 
I would rather have had a cornucopia if I had had to 
have anything. I wonder which takes up the most 
room when it’s melted, watermelon or a cornucopia? 
I’ve done everything I wanted except buy a toy 
balloon, and there's the man right over there. Oh, 
father! I haven't a cent. I've had a toy balloon 
every Fourth since I was a tiny girl and had to 
have it tied fast to me. Even that dear rubbery 
smell is a part of the Fourth of July. If I could have 
one — a red one — there wouldn’t be a thing in the 
world left to wish for. It's just ten cents, and 
wouldn't it be lovely to go home and not be able to 
think of a thing that you wanted to do and didn't?" 
And Father Moxie acknowledged that it was worth 
the price. 


CHAPTER XV 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 

“It was like the measles, when a body came down with it they 
had to go through it. It ran a regular course.” 

Marjorie sprawled comfortably on the floor under 
Mother Moxie’s bunch of drying bell peppers. The 
contents of the big cedar chest that had been dedi- 
cated to the keeping of dolls, lay undone before her. 

“I presume the little Muggs would like you but I 
couldn’t think of breaking my family,” she said, as 
she placed big and little dolls in a row. “There isn’t 
a one among you that doesn’t stand for some real 
member, unless it is black Adeline, and in real life, 
my dear, you are to be the nice loving old nurse, who 
has rocked my whole six, from fair-haired Josephine 
Murl, who is so like her father, down to cute little 
Teddy Turns, who is the unfortunate image of his 
mother, poor dear. So you see, after all, you are a 
very important member and can’t be dispensed with.” 
She straightened out the kinky wool in black Ade- 
line’s head, and punched her flattened features into 
intelligence. 

“You’re not a very pretty black girl, Adeline, and 
no doubt you will not improve with age ; people don’t ; 
but I mean to make you a very handsome turban out 
216 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 217 

of father's red kerchief, and that will cover up the 
most of you; and you're good, so you shouldn’t mind 
being homely. I don’t; I would much rather be a 
good plain heroine than the fascinating villainess, 
wouldn't you? 

“You see I shall some day need to know a great 
deal about nurses, so I must keep you to practice upon. 
I couldn’t think of giving you up till the real Ade- 
line Magnolia shows up, could I? Now you sit over 
there and take care of the baby, while I give the 
older children a little motherly talk. 

“Of course, you've been lonesome, poor darlings, 
shut in this horrible chest, and along with Jane's 
boots, too. Horrid thing ! I don't see what business 
she had sticking her boots in here. She certainly 
doesn't have much respect for my family. Your 
mother doesn't have the time to devote to you she 
would like, and I’m afraid you are not being properly 
brought up, with no one but old Adeline to see after 
you and she clear in the bottom of the chest with the 
last breath squeezed out of her. I certainly hope 
you have been good children and set as easy as you 
could, for she has tq be in the bottom as she’s rag 
and squashing won't hurt her, while Josephine Murl 
is wax and can't stand everything. I have worried 
constantly over that child for fear I shouldn t be 
able to raise her. Now there’s a fresh scratch on her 


218 MARJORIE MOXIE 

cheek this minute, and I know it was Jane’s boot that 
did it. 

“It is such a relief to know that my second child is 
hardy. It’s such a care to raise puny children. Car- 
olyn Curls is seven years old and she’s never been 
sick a day in her life. She has suffered some with 
weak eyes, something seeming to ail the spring in 
them, but that isn’t a real ailment. A great many 
people are cross-eyed. You little dear, you are such 
a comfort to your mother!” She kissed the doll in 
question effusively; then, to avoid any seeming par- 
tiality, she began at the head of the row and kissed 
down to little Teddy Turns and his black nursie. 

“If precious Vivian Evangeline had lived she would 
be four years old next Christmas; but how could 
I wish her back when, of course, she is a happy 
little angel ; and besides I still have more than I know 
what to do with, though I can’t help feeling it is 
wicked to dispose of any of them. You see it is a 
great responsibility being a mother. Here I have 
three ailing children. Darlene Hope has a weak 
spine, and nothing will do her any good but an opera- 
tion, which is apt to prove fatal. I’ve tried putting 
her in corsets but it doesn’t seem to have any effect, 
though I’m sure she couldn’t have lost very much 
sawdust from that wound old Appetite made in her 
side, for I sewed her up inside of a week, though Jane 
says I didn’t. However, she doesn’t seem to have 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 219 

the least stamina since. I’m sure I don’t know how 
to handle such a listless child. 

“Grace Hortense has been sorely afflicted since her 
infancy. I think it is St. Vitus’s dance, though the 
doctors are unable to tell. I have had her to several 
and none of them can do a thing for her. I am sure 
that she is a great trial to her poor mother, though 
it only makes me love her more, for it must be ter- 
ribly mortifying to have joints like hers. She can 
never tell how she is going to sit down. One of her 
feet is apt to stick right in the air; isn’t that dreadful? 
On account of her outlandish actions she is never 
allowed to appear in society. 

“Dear little Rose Marie is unbreakable, so they 
say, and I hope she is, for its nice to have a few chil- 
dren to romp with after the trouble of bringing up 
so many. Mother thinks six children a great deal 
too many ; but I don’t know. I rather think I should 
like one more, a boy and named for Dick, Richard 
Sturgis Moxie. I am so fond of Dick and he makes 
a good uncle to the children. Then, since precious 
Teddy Turns came, I like boys better than I did, and 
one boy is always lonesome, and I want one boy to 
wear curls and one to be close-cropped to please his 
father. 

“You see, if J keep these children till I commence 
again with a real little Josephine Murl, I shall be 
quite experienced. I shall know how to braid up a 


220 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


row of little pigtails and get them off to school in 
time, and I shall know just how broken-hearted poor 
little Rose Marie is going to feel when precious Teddy 
Turns comes new. I shall — ” Mother Moxie’s voice 
came from the foot of the stairs. 

“There’s some one to see you, daughter.” Mar- 
jorie scattered her numerous family in confusion. 
She confronted her mother tragically. 

“Who is it, mother? Is it a man? Is it a big, 
ragged man with red whiskers? Is it a weazendy 
boy with long hair and his father’s boots on? Is it 
Johnnie Mugg, mother?” 

“Yes, it’s a boy. Come down and see, daughter!” 

“Well, if it’s a boy it’s Johnnie Mugg and he’s 
after the things. Oh, mother! Come right up here 
this minute, Mother Moxie!” She pointed to one of 
Father Moxie’s grain sacks stuffed bulgingly to the 
brim. 

“There they are. I’ve been gathering things up all 
the morning. You know you said these things were 
for the poor and the Muggses are poor, you can’t deny 
that. I promised them a long time ago, I thought 
you’d want me to, but I’ve been so busy and they 
have simply haunted me. When I saw Mrs. Mugg 
lugging those twins down Main Street next to naked, 
I thought it was time something was done. I 
wouldn’t do such a thing. Why, even my Teddy 
Turns — Mother, you ought to have seen them, their 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 221 


poor little feet were bare! There are ten of them in 
all, counting Mr. Mugg, and he’s the raggedest one 
of all. I am sure I don’t see how he holds together. 
I should think when the wind blew he would flap 
himself to death. I don’t know where these things 
could be put to better account, do you, mother ?” She 
cast a furtive glance at Mother Moxie. 

“What did you find to send, daughter?” Mother 
Moxie’s tones were evasive. “You know you gave 
away Jane’s wool sweater last- year, and she needed 
it very badly.” 

“Well, I haven’t got very much of Jane’s, thank 
goodness! There’s father’s old coat that he hasn’t 
worn for a dog’s age, and Dick’s short pants, and 
that old brown dress of mine, and my yellow striped 
leggings, and the old embroidered organ cover. I 
thought Mrs. Mugg might cut that up to make the 
twins some petticoats.” 

“I shall need that to finish my rug.” Jane’s head 
appeared above the landing. kk I wish you would have 
her take that out, mother ! It’s hard to find enough 
dark red, and that is fine wool.” 

“I don’t believe you’d better send father’s yarn 
muffler, dear.” Mother Moxie began pulling a crim- 
son length from the sack. “You know you might 
not get the new one done before cold weather. His 
throat is so bad. And these were Richard’s • first 

15 


222 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


pants. I don’t want to give them away. He will 
cherish them when he is a man.” 

“You haven’t put in my blouse waist, have you, 
Sis? I’ve been looking for it all over the house.” 
Dick tore up the steps and besieged the bulging sack. 
“Yes, and there’s my ear flappers! And say, Sis! 
Did you get my old jacket out of the hall, the one 
with the belt on it ? I want that to wear hunting this 
fall.” 

“Yes, I did, Dick Moxie! It’s in the very bottom 
of the sack. Fish it out, stingy thing! I hope you’ll 
enjoy it hanging around till doomsday. Maybe 
you’d like to keep these old overalls and this little 
old shrunk-up shirt, would you? Maybe somebody 
might get a few rug scraps out of this old skirt of 
mother’s, or a few quilt pieces or something or other. 
Maybe I’d better send the empty sack and be done 
with it. Mrs. Mugg might put the twins in it and tie 
it around their necks. There don’t seem to be any- 
thing else I can send.” Marjorie faced them with 
flaming indignation. 

“There’s that green wrapper of mother’s that 
might have done very well for Mrs. Mugg if you* 
hadn’t taken it for the dog’s bed,” Jane suggested. 
“Oh, mother! There’s my pretty little velvet jacket 
that isn’t worn scarcely at all. It seems too bad to 
give that away.” Jane fished it out with an injured 
air. 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 223 

“Whew! And if there isn’t my baseball pants! 
Glad I came up to rescue them.” Dick added them 
to his armful of recovered belongings. “Say! I hope 
you were considerate enough to leave me out a change 
of underwear at least. Charity begins at home, you 
know.” 

“Yes, I guess it does; it begins there and ends 
there. I’d like to know what I can give, mother. 
They’re taking out every last thing! Oh, mother!” 
Marjorie was on the verge of tears. “There’s that 
cap of Dick’s. He’s taking out that! It’ll never be 
of any use to him — never! I’d hate to be so stingy 
of my things I’d like to see them hanging around for 
the moths to eat while poor children went barefoot.” 

“I don’t know as my cap’s going to keep anybody’s 
feet warm next winter; and anyhow, I always felt 
good in this cap.” He pulled it on before her, tanta- 
lizingly. 

“Well, I don’t care, they can have this— and this 
— and this.” Marjorie whisked her own belongings 
off the nails. “This dress of mine is as good as new ; 
but, thank goodness, I’ve outgrown it. It’ll just fit 
Mollie Mugg. I may have lots of faults, but I’m not 
stingy. If I had a rug that was made out of clothes 
that might have kept a lot of helpless little children 
from freezing, I wouldn’t care if it did take a prize at 
the county fair, I should hate myself. I know I 
should.” 


224 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


She aimed a deluge at Jane, retreating through the 
staircase with an armful of rescued treasures. Mother 
Moxie went down to look up an old overcoat that had 
been Father Moxie’s. Dick, decorated with cast-offs, 
pranced away tormentingly. Marjorie crammed 
what remained into the sack with desperate thrusts. 
There wasn’t much — an old suit of Dick’s, a dress or 
two that had done double service, some of her own 
little frayed petticoats, her old red tarn of two sea- 
sons, a striped yarn mitten whose mate had been lost. 

Goaded beyond endurance, she dashed down the 
back stairs and into her own bedroom closet, snatched 
an armful of faded frocks, and the blue blouse suit 
that came to her knees. “That’s good for something, 
at least. I couldn’t look Mrs. Mugg in the face again, 
after all I’ve said, if I gave her rags.” 

Had mother asked him in? She peeped out the 
upstairs window. Dick’s last year’s coat hung on 
the front banisters. A pretty place for it. She 
had left it hanging there herself on her way to the 
shed. She had meant to replenish the Appetite’s bed, 
but had changed her mind. She dashed down after 
it. It was terribly faded. The sleeve was ripped; but 
it would do for Johnnie Mugg. There wasn’t a thing 
in for Johnnie, not a thing. All the other little Muggs 
had been remembered. It was a good coat. There 
wasn’t a hole in it; but Dick didn’t need it. He 
shouldn’t have it. Something white protruded from 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 225 

one of the pockets. It was a letter — from a girl. Oh, 
it was ! It smelled of perfume. It wasn’t sealed, or 
if it was it flew open just as soon as she pinched it 
ever so little. And she could see inside. This is 
what she read: 

“I shall be glad to go to the party with you at 
Charlie Johnson’s. Meet me at our home at seven 
o’clock sharp. Grace Dunning.” 

Grace Dunning of all girls in the world. Why, 
she was positively snippy. Marjorie couldn’t endure 
her. It was Dick’s coat. Yes, it was. Dick’s hat 
and boxing glove lay on the step beside it. Marjorie 
snatched it and ran all the way upstairs. 

The sack was all tied securely when Mother Moxie 
came up to help carry it down. Together they loaded 
it into Johnnie Mugg’s two-wheeled cart, and tucked 
it around with Father Moxie’s big coat. 

“There ! I guess somebody’ll be warmer next win- 
ter than they were last, anyhow,” she said with a 
sigh of satisfaction as she joined Dick where he was 
fitting the finishing twigs into a squirrel’s cage. 
“Don’t you s’pose they’ll be grateful, Dick? Just 
think! There’s father’s good coat for Mr. Mugg! 
That will help to hold him together. And Dick! I 
put in your old brown coat for Johnnie. It was 


226 


MARJORIE MOXtn 


terribly old, you know, and — ” Not a word about 
the note, however. 

“My last winter’s coat? Yes, it was terribly old. 
They’re a good-for-nothing set. Old Man Mugg is 
shiftless. I’m not interested in paupers. Say, Sis! 
Has the mail man come? Was there anything for 
me?” Dick inquired, anxiously, getting up and 
closing his knife. “It must be time for him.” 

“Well, it is. He’s come and gone. He didn’t bring 
anything for you, either,” Marjorie retorted spite- 
fully. “I’d like to know what makes you so anxious. 
Who do you expect a letter from?” 

“I don’t know as I am anxious, and I’m not telling 
who I expect letters from, not to childien.” 

“Must be you’ve been writing to some girl. That’s 
what you have,” as Dick maintained a sullen silence. 
“I’d be ashamed of myself.” 

“Oh, I don’t know! I don’t know what harm 
there’d be in writing to a dozen if I wanted. I guess 
a fellow’s got a right to look at something besides his 
sister.” 

“Well, some fellow’s sisters aren’t asking any odds 
of them,” Marjorie snapped hotly, the memory of the 
perfumed note goading her to bitterness. “If I was 
you I’d get married and be done with it.” 

“Well, I will when I get ready for all of you. 
Don’t think I’d stop on your account,” Dick snapped 
back, angrily. “Besides, I don’t believe you know 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 227 

whether I got a letter or not, so there ! I’m going in 
and see for myself.” 

“Go, then! and I hope you’ll be satisfied!” Mar- 
jorie screamed. “’Fore I’d be love-sick!” Her tones 
conveyed all the contempt she felt. She twisted sev- 
eral brown twigs off the squirrel’s cage while he was 
gone. She watched him coming back. He was in a 
beastly temper. He was whisking the heads right 
off mother’s blue bachelor buttons along the path. 
Her salutation did not improve him any. 

“Huh! Made a lot, didn’t you? Let me see what 
the little tootsy dumpling said, won’t you, dearest? 
Oh, she must be a little sweet thing ! How did she 
begin? Let’s see! ‘Dearest, darlingest Dick,’ it ran. 
‘I take my pen in hand to let you know I am well and 
hope this will find you the same.’ No, this is it: 
‘Since last I saw your manly form striding away in 
the moonlight I have not been able to sleep a wink. I 
have listened but for one sound, the sound of your 
dear voice, bidding me come out and stroll in a gar- 
den of roses! My lips have formed but one sound, 
“Richard, I love thee!” Is it not enough?”’ She 
taunted him in melodramatic tones. 

“Well, I guess she’s not any sillier than you are,” 
Dick responded. “I saw the letters you wrote to 
Nellie Cassiday and they were a fright.” 

“Well, I guess I’d write lovinger to a girl than I 
would to a boy, so Dick Moxie! I never wrote to a 


228 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


boy in my life AND YOU know it! I wouldn’t! I’d 
be ashamed to. ’Fore I’d be getting love letters from 
a girl! Oh, oh!” She pointed her finger at him 
scornfully. 

“Well, who said I had! I just let you think so to 
see how mad you’d get. If I ever do get any letters 
you can bet your high-heeled boots you’ll never see 
them, Miss!” he vowed savagely. ' 

“Well, I shan’t want to. I wouldn’t waste my time 
over such silly stuff I’d have you know. My time is 
too valuable, thank your honor!” 

“Oh, is it?” Dick’s “Oh, is it?” was aggravating. 
Marjorie had meant to confess. The letter was inside 
her apron this minute. But she arose and shook out 
her small skirts haughtily. 

“Well, if you don’t want to be civil you needn’t, 
grouchy. I’m not going to stay here and quarrel. I 
wouldn’t be so sore because I didn’t get a letter that 
I’d let everybody know how much I cared. Even if 
it — if it killed me, I’d try to have a little dignity. I’d 
like to know who you expect a letter from that you’ve 
had to inquire forty times a day for the past week. 
Well, you didn’t get it, and I’m glad of it; anybody 
as mean as you are don’t deserve a letter.” She 
flounced away behind the shed and Dick heard her 
playing anti-over savagely. This was the very last 
mail, the postman had been and gone, and the 
invitation was for to-night. Dick worked sullenly 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 229 

for a while, then he followed Marjorie. She sat on 
an upturned potato crate with her head in her hands. 
Dick thought she was lonely. His heart relented. 

“Want to go to a party to-night, Sis?” He broke 
the news abruptly. Marjorie lifted her face discon- 
solate enough. She had been crying. Her eyes were 
red. Dick put his arm around her tenderly. 

“There ! cheer up, little girl !” That was a delight- 
ful manly way Dick had. “I forgot all about it. 
There’s going to be a party at Charlie Johnson’s and 
you and I are going.” 

“Who — who said so?” Marjorie’s lips were still 
quivering. 

“Why, I did, didn’t I?” 

“But mother didn’t.” 

“Well, she will. You want to, don’t you?” he 
queried, peering around to see into her face. 

“Y — yes.” Oh, how that perfumed thing inside 
her apron did burn ! 

“Well, then, go and get your bib and tucker on. 
We’ll start at seven sharp.” 

“I — I thought that you were going to stay all night 
with Edwin. You — you asked mother.” 

“I know; but I’ve changed my mind. A fellow 
can change his mind, can’t he?” 

“I s’pose so.” Marjorie looked miserable. 

“You don’t act as though you wanted to go,” Dick 


230 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


reproved her. “You aren’t very appreciative I must 
confess, when there are hundreds of pretty girls — ” 

“Well, why don’t you take them, then; you’d rather 
than to take me.” 

“Who said I’d rather ! I always do take you, don’t 
I?” 

“Well, you wouldn’t if you could get anybody else,” 
Marjorie accused him miserably. “You know it, too, 
Dick Moxie. You just take me ’cause — ’cause you 
have to, you know you do.” 

“No, I don’t.” Dick struggled bravely over the 
falsehood. “I — I’d rather have you than anybody.” 
It was a generous little lie and Marjorie loved him 
for it. 

“Honest, Dick?” She lifted her wet face. “Do you 
want me? If you say you want me I’ll go. I couldn’t 
go if you didn’t want me.” Her eyes sought his hope- 
fully. “Isn’t there someone else that you’d rather 
have ?” 

“Honest Injun, not a soul!” Dick reiterated and 
somehow the perfumed note lost its importance. Dick 
wanted her. She was going. Mother Moxie pressed 
her white brilliantine dress and Jane made some 
lovely blue bows. She wore Mother Moxie’s fleecy 
opera shawl and carried a fan. The letter fell out of 
her pocket when she went to dress and lay on the 
closet floor forgotten. 

How the lights did twinkle along the street and 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 231 

how blue the sky was! And Charlie Johnson’s was 
just the prettiest place, — great branching trees in the 
yard, dozens of them, and lawn swings, one on each 
side, and hammocks, too; and Charlie Johnson had a 
dove house fast to his barn and always there were the 
dearest blue doves with coral-colored feet hopping 
about. And they had a piano and an Angora cat and 
— everything. If there was any place in the whole 
world where a party could be perfectly delightful it 
was there. She squeezed Dick’s arm as they came in 
sight of it. 

“You’re so good,” she whispered. He was good 
— hundreds and hundreds of times better than she. 
If he knew — For a moment she longed to throw 
her arms about him and confess; but she fought her 
tingling conscience back desperately. He would 
probably leave her right there in the street. She 
shouldn’t tell him. No indeed. She was going to be 
happy. She was. She thought of Grace Dunning 
all togged up waiting in the parlor, and laughed 
hysterically. 

“What’s the matter?” Dick tightened his hold of 
her. “Are you getting giddy?” 

“I — I was just thinking — ” Marjorie stammered, 
“ — of — of — of a monkey.” 

“Well, you’d better sober down if you’re going 
with me. I don’t want to escort any chessy cats.” 

— She would wait and wait and nobody would 


23 2 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


come, and oh, how her black eyes would snap and 
how she would rave around! There wouldn’t be 
any living with her. Marjorie pictured her dressed in 
sky blue with more than a dozen bracelets and bangles 
on. She laid her cheek against Dick’s arm. If it 
had been Annabel or Mabel or Belinda — but Grace 
Dunning — after all, she was being kind to Dick. 

“ Seven o’clock, sharp” — It was that this minute. 
She was probably standing in the door wishing she 
could get her hands on him, but she couldn’t. Mar- 
jorie patted him protectingly. It would do Grace 
Dunning good to stay home from one party. 

What was her surprise upon entering the hall to 
see first of all Grace Dunning, in the smartest of 
bright frocks, with more bangles than ever, and 
laughing merrily as though there hadn’t a thing in 
the world happened. She vouchsafed Dick and Mar- 
jorie a cold stare that was meant to be simply 
squelching. Marjorie felt Dick shrink perceptibly 
and for a moment she was overcome with pity and 
remorse and indignation. Oh, she could never have 
dreamed that Dick would care! Grace Dunning 
wasn’t worth it. The whole of her wasn’t worth 
Dick’s little finger. What right had she to snub him, 
say! Indignation gained over all other emotion till 
it was paramount. Her Dick! and to be snubbed in 
cold blood! Then remorse began gradually to eat 
its way back. He cared. Would he look so perfectly 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 233 


desperately wretched if he didn’t care terribly? Of 
course he cared and she was to blame for it. If it 
hadn’t been for her Grace Dunning would have smiled 
at him and he would have been happy. She looked 
helplessly over to where he sat, stiff and dejected in 
a gilt reception chair. He wasn’t enjoying himself 
at all, neither was she. She felt perfectly abominable, 
though it was simply a delightful party. 

There were all sorts of games, and lovely mottoes 
hidden in every corner with strings fastened to them, 
and Mrs. Johnson played the piano for them to play 
“ American Girl Come Volunteer,” and the Angora 
cat had kittens, just the dearest, fluffiest balls of fur, 
and they brought them all into the parlor, and they 
tangled the motto strings all up, and in the dining 
room a table was spread just beautifully with glass 
and silver and cakes with candles on them and car- 
nations, great pink bunches of them, where they were 
going to eat by and by. They played the j oiliest 
games and Charlie Johnson just chose her over and 
over, though she didn’t care if he did or not. If Dick 
wasn’t going to be happy she wouldn’t, and oh, he 
was getting miserabler every minute ! He wanted to 
choose Grace Dunning but he didn’t dare to, and 
Edwin Cobb chose her and she flirted with him over 
her fan. If he couldn’t choose her he wouldn’t choose 
anybody and he just poked way off in the corner 
and wouldn’t play. Oh, it was terrible! She couldn’t 


234 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


bear it! She couldn’t! She crept away out doors 
and hid herself in one of the big lawn swings. 

She had to face it, she might as well do it first as 
last. It wasn’t her Dick any more. Some one had 
supplanted her in his affections. Always, from now 
on, she would have to share him with somebody. If 
it wasn’t Grace Dunning it would be somebody else. 
Not once this whole night had he chosen her, not in 
“Skip To My Lou” or anything, and always before he 
had chosen her more than any. When they began like 
that they kept right on, nothing would stop them. It 
was like the measles, when a body came down with 
them they had to go through it. They ran a regular 
course. It didn’t seem to matter how young a body 
was or how old, they were always in danger of taking 
them if they hadn’t gone through them thoroughly. 
Some people had them harder than others. Dick 
would. It would just about carry him off. As for 
her, she didn’t mean to have them, not for a great 
many years, perhaps never. She’d have to like to 
make a fool of herself better than she did now. If 
she ever did take them she hoped she’d have enough 
sense left to go to the woods where she wouldn’t be 
tormenting anybody else. People who were in love 
weren’t good for anything else and they might as 
well give up their time to that and be done with it. 
Jane wasn’t and she’d had several light attacks. Some 
people went right out of one attack into another. 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 23 5 


Grace Dunning did. She was always talking about 
the boys. As for her, she didn’t see anything very 
interesting in the most of them, just a lot of conceit 
and swagger and some of them were soft, nothing 
to lose sleep over at any rate. 

But Dick was different. He would probably have 
a girl almost every night now, and take her home 
from church and everything. There wasn’t any use 
hoping he wouldn’t; he would. Their good times 
were over. Big salty tears rolled down and fell into 
her lap. Still if Dick cared — If she couldn’t have 
but just one thing she wanted Dick to be happy, even 
if she had to have Grace Dunning. If he couldn’t 
be happy with just her any more why — why she didn’t 
want him. Some one was stepping softly over the 
grass. It was Charlie Johnson. She turned upon 
him fiercely. 

“Go right straight back! What are you tagging 
me for? I want to be left alone!” she blurted out, and 
hid her face in her arm, kicking one foot out at him 
spitefully. 

“Why don’t you come in?” he protested. “We’re 
going to play forfeits, and want you.” 

“Well, if I wanted to be there, I’d come, wouldn’t 
I ? Can’t you take a hint ?” 

“If you don’t want to come in can’t I stay out here 
with you?” he begged, sitting gingerly down on a 


236 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


small portion of the seat. “ — There isn’t any one in 
there that I care for.” 

“Why not?” 

“ ’Cause I don’t. I think you’re bully. I like you 
best of anybody.” 

“Well, you needn’t tell me of it. I don’t thank you 
much.” 

“Besides it’s most supper time and I’m going to 
have you for a partner. Everybody chooses the one 
he likes best, and I choose you; anyhow it isn’t nice 
staying out here,” he reproved her. 

“I don’t care whether it’s nice or not. You’re not 
nice either,” she retorted rudely. “Can’t' you leave 
me be?” 

“I will if you’ll promise. It’s my party you know, 
and — •” 

“Well, I just won’t, so there! I’m not going to 
eat any supper. I’m going in; if you want to stay 
out here and moon you can.” She flounced past him 
haughtily. 

Where was Dick? Perhaps he and Grace Dun- 
ning had made up ; but no, they hadn’t. There he sat 
looking like the last rose of summer. If anything, his 
face was longer than ever. He didn’t look as though 
he had ever smiled. She went over to him determin- 
edly. She had made up her mind. It would be like 
pulling eyeteeth but she meant to do it. He was sit- 
ting in a dear little cosy corner and there wasn’t a 


AN INCONSEQUENTIAL ATTACK 237 

soul around. She carefully drew the curtains. There 
was a little stool at his feet. She sank down upon it 
and hugged his knees. 

“Bend over !” she commanded. “There’s something 
I want to tell you — very important.” Her tones were 
tragical, her eyes large and bright with suppressed 
emotion. “In a minute they’re going in to supper, 
and I want you to take her. Yes, I do. I didn’t, but 
I do now. You want to, you can’t hide it. You’re 
just d — dying to. Oh, I know you are.” Her voice 
was thread-like and trembly. “She’s haughty and 
snippy and horrid and I don’t love her; but if you do 
I’ll try to, and — and she isn’t to blame for snubbing 
you. I am. There was a letter. Oh, there was! 
There zms. And I couldn’t bear to give it to you, 
and — and it was in Johnnie Muggses’ old coat, and 
you were so — so cross, and — Oh! — Dick! — I wanted 
you myself!” She hid her wet face on Dick’s knees. 

“If it had been Mabel or Belinda or Annabel, maybe 
I could have borne it; but oh, no! I couldn’t either. 
I never can. Have you got to have it — so young t 
Oh, Dick! Why couldn’t our good times have gone 
on forever ? Do you really 1 — love her so m — much ?” 
Dick laughed. Oh, he did! He could laugh. Mar- 
jorie looked up excitedly. 

“But you do care, don’t you, and you’ll take her in 
to supper, and maybe after a while you’ll both be 
happy again? I hope so. I shan’t eat anything.” 


238 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


She looked so miserable Dick laughed again and 
snuggled her up in his arms. 

“Do you know, there isn’t but one girl here that 
I’d take in to supper, and that’s you,” he whispered 
in her ear. “I’m going to, too; that is, unless Charlie 
Johnson has got the start of me. Has he?” 

“You know he hasn’t, Dick; nobody could. Do 
you think I care for him?” 

“Well, then I guess we’ll both be happy once more.” 

“And — and don’t you care? Don’t you 1 — love 
her?” 

“I should say not. Do you think I did?” 

“Y— yes.” 

“Well, I don’t. I couldn’t after to-night.” 

“And you’re not mad at me?” 

“What for? — About that note? Dwight Jones told 
me all about that. He delivered it. Says he rung 
the bell twice so he just stuck it in the pocket. I don’t 
care. I’m glad I didn’t get it.” 

“Are you? Honest?” Marjorie looked at him, 
anxiously. “And — and aren’t you going to keep on ? 
Haven’t I got to g — give you up ?” 

“Not till some good-looking fellow comes along and 
takes you away from me. It won’t be right away, 
will it, Sis?” He tugged at her brown braid tenderly. 

“It won’t ever be,” Marjorie told him. 


CHAPTER XVI 


fisherman's luck 

“What a relief it would be if we could only adjust things so 
there wouldn’t be a continual battle inside one between the ‘want 
to’ and the ‘ought to’.” 

“Marjorie! I’ve called you twice now, that’s a 
great plenty. Come! Get up! That’s a good girl! 
Breakfast is almost ready.” Mother Moxie went 
back to finish the griddle cakes. She baked three 
more batches without a sound from overhead. Jane 
tiptoed slyly to the stair door. 

“Marjorie Moxie, you get right straight up! You 
aren’t any better to lie there in bed than other folks. 
I called you when I came down and I know you were 
awake, too, you were only playing ’possum. Mother, 
she hasn’t stirred!” she appealed in injured tones. 
“It isn’t fair.” 

“Come, daughter!” Father Moxie took his turn in 
the hallway. “It’s a fine day. Be up and stirring! 
Mother has the cakes all baked.” It was hard to 
resist father. Marjorie drew an extra thickness of 
quilts up over her ears. It might be a fine day; but 
it wasn’t more than an hour since she went to bed. If 
folks wanted to get up in the middle of the night they 
could. She wanted to sleep. She was going to. She 


239 


240 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


/ 

didn’t care if the cakes were baked. She didn’t want 
any breakfast anyhow. Why couldn’t people leave 
her alone? 

“Say, Miss ! you’d better crawl out of there !” Dick 
was stamping in the hall like an Indian. “You’re a 
good one. Here it is seven o’clock! I’d be sick. 
You’d better get up or you’ll wish you had! Hey! 
Marjorie! Marjorie!” He threw an old shoe at the 
door. Marjorie crawled miserably under the pillow. 

And she had been dreaming such a beautiful dream 
— all about birds and flowers and going to the love- 
liest places. In vain she tried to gather up the tangled 
threads. She and a lovely girl with golden hair had 
been in a thick forest, and they were just bending 
down to a lovely pool to drink, and the girl had said 
— Oh, dear ! What had she said ? There wasn’t any 
use. She couldn’t remember. It was gone — never 
would she be able to dream one half so lovely. If 
she ever did have a nice dream somebody spoiled it. 
And there was Dick hollering again. 

“Marjorie Moxie, if you don’t scramble out of that 
I’m coming up. Oh, I say, Marjorie!” 

“Why don’t you yell !” Marjorie drew her head 
out disgustedly. “I’d like to know who could sleep. 
It’s a pity a body couldn’t take a minute’s peace ! No ! 
I’m not getting up, if you want to know. I’m not 
going to. There! Now will you go away and let 
me be?” Dear! how good the bed did feel! She 


FISHERMAN’S LUCK 


241 


turned over into a cool fresh spot. How was a body 
ever to know how nice a bed was if they had to hop 
out as soon as ever they got awake enough to enjoy 
it? The very best time of the whole night was in 
the morning. Some folks always hated to see other 
people taking comfort. As for her she didn’t see 
any sense in changing conditions when one was per- 
fectly and delightfully happy. Didn’t a body know 
themselves when they had had sleep enough without 
being told? 

“Marjorie, must I come up after you? You worry 
mother to death.” It was father again. Marjorie 
sat up miserably. 

“Yes’m. I’m getting up,” she called down meekly. 
She rubbed her eyes. What ! were they eating ? She 
listened to the rattle of dishes below. They were. 
Hot cakes and fried potatoes and coffee. She hurried 
into her clothes. 

“You oughtn’t to go a step.” Dick reproached her. 
“If you’d stayed moped off in bed much longer I’d 
have gone without you.” 

“Gone where? Oh, Dick, you aren’t! Why didn’t 
you call me?” 

“Call you ! Call you ! !” Dick snorted. “I’d like to 
know what a body’d call you with short of an earth- 
quake. Mother’s trotted clear to the stair door three 
times. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” 

“I am.” Marjorie was humility itself. 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


242 

Oh, she had almost missed the very treat of the 
whole year! Dick was going to Whalen Lake. He 
zvas. She was going with him, mother just said so. 
Supposing she had stayed in bed an hour longer. Oh, 
she would never, never have gotten over it if she had 
missed that! She gulped her breakfast down excit- 
edly, never bothering for “lady bites.” Oh, and they 
were going to take their lunch in a basket! — bread 
and butter and fried chicken and pickles and preserves 
and dear little patties of cheese ; yes, and oranges and 
cake and raspberry tarts. Mother was packing it. 
It looked so delicious it took away her appetite for 
plain pancakes and coffee. Oh, what fun it would be 
to eat it sitting where it was all piney and green! 

Dick was in the garden digging bait. She could 
hear him. He had let out the Appetite. They were 
going to take her along. Wouldn't she have a per- 
fectly delightful time? She would wag herself clear 
in two, she was bound to. Father had brought Dob- 
bins's old horse and tied him to the front gate. He 
was a lovely old horse with a great big Adam's apple 
on the wrong side of his neck, and knobby knees. He 
looked mangey. It was an interesting old buggy, too, 
with a rusty, broken-down board and a frazzled whip 
sticking up in front. Oh, they were going to have 
a perfectly romantic time! She hunted out her old 
tea-matting hat that she hadn't worn since last 


FISHERMAN’S LUCK 


243 

summer. A red string was missing, but she rem- 
edied that by pinning on a blue hair ribbon. 

“You aren't going to wear that old dress with a 
streak all round where mother let down the hem?" 
Jane questioned. “It's patched in a dozen places and 
a hole in the elbow besides. It's to be hoped that 
you'll keep on the back streets. I'd be ashamed to go 
through town in that." 

“Well, I shan't be. I'll sail along as big as Cuffy. 
Thank goodness I'm not so proud I'm miserable! 
I'm not posing as any fashion plate. I'm going to be 
comfortable. This is the comfortablest dress I’ve got. 
For a wonder it's big enough. I might possibly eat 
all I wanted for once. 'T would be a pity, wouldn’t 
it? I s'pose you'd have me go mincing along in 
French heels and a corset. Where's that red bandana 
handkerchief you were going to make a footstool of, 
Jane Ann Moxie? I thought it was right in the very 
top of this rag bag." 

“It was. Why? What are you going to do with 
a red bandana handkerchief? Tie it around your 
neck? You aren't! Mother! Marjorie's going right 
through town with an old bandana tied around her 
neck! Won't she be a spectacle? I wouldn't disgrace 
the family." 

“Well, you needn't. I almost always save you the 
trouble, don’t I? If wearing a red handkerchief 
around my neck is any disgrace I can do it without 


244 


MARJORIE M0X1E 


the least qualm of conscience, so you needn’t feel at 
all indebted to me, dear Jane. I’m going to do it, so 
you might as well tell me first as last; if you don’t, 
Jane Moxie, I’ll wear a — a stocking. Everybody 
knows that a red bandana handkerchief keeps the 
sun off. I s’pose you’d wear a low-necked gown with 
elbow sleeves, wouldn’t you? Everybody wears one 
who goes fishing. Dick has one and I’m going to. 
Mother ! Can’t she tell me where it is if she knows ? 
There; if that looks very bad I’ll eat the greaser.” 
Having fished it out Marjorie knotted it under her 
chin in a careless tie. 

“Where is Dick? Oh, where’s our bottle of cold 
tea? We mustn’t forget that. I’ll bring the dinner 
basket. Dick, have you got the pails, and the poles? 
Oh, put them on behind as old Jimmerson does ! Can’t 
you? They look so — so artistic. There now! I’m 
going to sit on this side. We’re ready. Now cluck 
fo your horse, Mr. Good-driver! Do you really sup- 
pose he’ll go, he looks so stationary ? Aren’t his ears 
awfully long for 'a horse? He couldn’t be a mule, 
could he? There isn’t any difference between a horse 
and a mule, is there, except their ears and — and the 
bray? Perhaps he’ll bray. Oh, I hope he will, don’t 
you? Wouldn’t it be a joke if he was a mule? What 
shall we call him? Here, Jim! Here, John! Here, 
Charlie! Here, Billy! Oh, let’s call him Dobbins! 
It seems to fit him best of anything. Isn’t it strange 


FISHERMAN’S LUCK 


245 


how an animal gets to look just like his master ? Now 
if that isn't the Dobbins nose exactly, and Philander 
Dobbins’s expression over and over! Yes, and their 
dog has it too — the same eyes. I don’t know how to 
express it unless it’s what you call an aching void. 
Oh, he isn’t going. Pull on the lines a little bit! 
‘Gidap’ to him! Did you ever see such a contrary 
creature? He’s so clumsy, he doesn’t know what 
to do with his feet. He’s walking all over himself. 
Oh, Dick, won’t you quit pulling! He’ll sit down on 
us. There! He’s moving. He’s started. We’re 
going. Good-bye, mother! Good-bye, Jane!” She 
waved her handkerchief out behind. 

“Oh, Dick! Mustn’t it be awful to have such big 
feet, and four of them? How can he keep track of 
them — four at once ! Supposing he couldn’t get them 
out of the way in time! He’s trotting. Oh, Dick! 
don’t let him ! He looks as though he was going all 
to pieces. Supposing he should do something to him- 
self! Is the Appetite coming? Oh, yes; there she 
is! — Way ahead, just tearing up the dust. Isn’t she 
happy? Aren’t you? Isn’t everybody? Why, I’d 
rather be just me than the Queen of Sheba, wouldn’t 
you?” The buggy, rattled conspicuously down Main 
Street and around the corner. 

“Oh, there’s the watering trough! Let’s water 
him !” They reined up with a grand flourish. “Can 
he drink with those things in his mouth? There, old 


246 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


boy! Water is cold and unsympathetic stuff, but it 
fills up terrible vacancies sometimes. Oh, I hope he 
won’t burst! Doesn’t he make the awfullest noise? 
He’s swallowing bubbles. Do you suppose it will 
give him the colic?” 

They turned off into the country road. Everything 
was fresh and sweet. Dew still lay wet on the grass 
and the night mists were drifting over the sky in tiny 
clouds. Bright daisies lifted their faces along the 
way like fresh washed children on their way to school. 
Birds sang merrily in the woodland patches as they 
went through. Now the air was sweetened with fields 
of ripening clover, again it was white buckwheat or 
tasseling corn. When they struck the hollows it was 
the pungent scent of mint and cress crushed into fra- 
grance by thirsty cattle. Close by a little gurgling 
stream Marjorie sniffed at the air greedily and caught 
the reins. 

“Oh, Dick! Stop! Wait! Let me out! It’s ber- 
ries; raspberries! I smell ’em! Don’t you? Could 
any one mistake that delicious preservy smell ? There 
they are! I knew it! — Whole bunches of them!” 
She sprang out over the wheel even before old Dob- 
bins had come to a standstill. Oh, how good they 
were ! She put whole handfuls of them into her eager 
mouth. Dick followed, and the Appetite, barking and 
yelping, knocking a shower of crimson fruit to the 
ground as she tore through brambles and bounded 


FISHERMAN'S LUCK 


24 7 


over charred logs. Never had raspberries grown such 
delicious cups of sweetness, a dozen in a bunch and 
each bunch a mouthful. They ate till they were sat- 
isfied, then they picked old Dobbins some tender, 
luscious tufts of grass that grew in the springy 
bottoms. 

All along the way there were surprises. Here a 
bush of wild roses, and there a scattering of bluebells, 
then all of a sudden “mother bonnets,” hundreds and 
hundreds of them lifting their purple hoods proudly 
in the sun. — And wintergreens. — Oh, such delicious 
spicy fellows springing up all around the stumps! 
The buggy box was loaded with treasures before they 
were halfway. Marjorie guarded them solicitously. 

“Don’t wiggle around so, Dick! You’re scrunch- 
ing everything,” she cautioned. “See there, now! 
Your elbow is right in the roses. Let one foot hang 
outside, can’t you? There isn’t any room for that 
lovely feathery fern I dug up for mother. Where’s 
the wintergreens ? Oh, Dick ! you’re sitting on them, 
of course. You’re always doing something. Why 
aren’t you careful?” 

“Maybe I’d better get out and walk,” Dick sug- 
gested miserably, trying to adjust his feet in small 
compass. “You seem to have monopolized things in 
here. I don’t see what you wanted to gather all that 
stuff now for. It’ll wilt.” 

“It shan’t ! Dick Moxie, I believe you would have 


248 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


been mean enough not to have dug up that lovely 
fern, when you know mother's been wanting one. I 
s'pose you would have gone right by all those lovely 
roses, the very first we've seen this year, and nobody 
knows if we'll ever see another. Anyhow, we’ve got 
these and I mean to keep them if we both get out and 
walk, so there ! When I get to the lake I shall dig a 
nice little hole and sink the stems in water, poor dears ! 
Oh, look away down there, Dick! Is it the sky? Are 
we on a hill? Oh, is it water? Is it the lake? Are we 
there ? Oh, Dicky, Dick! Isn't it lovely, lovely, 
lovely ?" 

The lake lay beneath them, a shimmering looking- 
glass in the July sun, the shadow of white clouds 
floating upon it like boats, and stately pines bordering 
it with a deep green fringe. Under a great drooping 
water willow a tiny boat snuggled, its nose to the 
bank. Dick and Marjorie both clambered out ex- 
citedly. They hitched the horse to the back of the 
buggy-box and gave him the hay they had brought 
for him under the seat. Marjorie clapped her hands 
and danced about jubilantly. 

“It's a dear of a lake. I never imagined it was as 
nice as this. And isn't that a dream of a boat? And 
oh, you'll let me row part of the time, won't you? I 
can. I won't tip it over. Oh, please, Dick, let me 
try! — And isn’t it a glorious day? — And shall we go 
now or eat something? I'm terribly hungry. Let's 


FISHERMAN’S LUCK 


249 


have dinner first, I believe we will be able to enjoy 
things better. I brought some potatoes. There’s a 
lovely place to build a fire. Have you got a knife to 
whittle shavings?” 

Dick found a pine knot, and Marjorie went down 
to the water’s edge to wash the potatoes. They soon 
had things going in real camping-out fashion. The 
pine knot crackled and sputtered and sent up delicious 
resinous smells. Mother Moxie’s new tin pail swung 
merrily in place of a kettle. 

“I believe I’ll just go and catch a fish while the 
potatoes are boiling,” Dick suggested. 

“A fried fish would go pretty well, I’m thinking.” 

“Yes, but we haven’t got anything to fry him in.” 

“Well, we could roast him.” 

“Yes, we could roast him. Oh, Dick! I’m going 
too,” as she saw him untying the boat. “It wouldn’t 
take but just a minute, would it, to catch — say one?” 

“We’ll catch a dozen,” Dick said confidently as 
they pushed off. 

“Isn’t the water simply beautiful? Oh, I wish we 
could have it right in our dooryard, don’t you, Dick?” 

“I guess the dooryard would be out of sight, all 
right.” 

“Well, I guess we could have our house right down 
here by the water, then it would^ be all dooryard. 
I didn’t say how big a one,” Marjorie persisted. 
“My ! what funny little dumpy oars ! Do you suppose 


250 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


we will capsize? Wouldn't it be exciting? Just 
row out a little ways and then fish. I love to.” 

“Yes, the fish would be apt to bite, wouldn’t they?” 

“Why not? Can they see me? There goes one! 
Oh, look ! look ! What a big shiny fellow ! I can see 
bottom. I can. It’s covered with lovely white sand 
and moss. Oh, I wish I could get in all over. 
Wouldn’t it be lovely to swim? By and by I’m going 
to take off my shoes and stockings. Can I ? Did you 
get a bite?” 

“No, I guess I’m not apt to unless I leave you on 
the bank. The fish are all across the lake by this 
time.” 

“Are they? No, they aren’t. There goes another 
this minute. They aren’t afraid of me at all. I don’t 
believe they can hear, they haven’t got ears. Did 
you ever see a fish’s ears? At least they aren’t con- 
spicuous like ours. Do you know you could pick out 
a Moxie anywhere by his ears? They’re our — our 
trade-marks. Fishes are all eyes and mouth. They 
use their mouth for a nose. Oh, there! Didn’t you 
get a bite? Your line jerked. Why didn’t you pull 
it in and see?” Dick threw it farther out disgust- 
edly. For a moment they both watched it anxiously. 

“I don’t believe you’ve got a worm on,” Marjorie 
whispered. “I’ve heard Mr. Jimmerson spits on his 
hook. Did you spit on yours ?” 

A great snowy cloud floated over the lake till the 


FISHERMAN'S LUCK 


251 


boat seemed to ride in the heart of it. Gulls dipped 
and darted, wetting their breasts. They saw them 
without looking up. 

“S — h — h!" Marjorie lifted a hand warningly. 
“There goes one, a beauty, right toward the hook. 
Don't breathe! He's going to bite. If you could 
wiggle it ever so little — Oh! There he goes! He 
doesn't like worms. What is it I smell?" She puck- 
ered her small nose into the air investigatingly. 
“Don't you smell something — familiar? My pota- 
toes! They're burning! Here! Let me pull in the 
line! You row! Row, row for your life, Dick! 
Oh, wouldn't it be too bad if they should burn up?" 
She sprang ashore before the boat had scarcely grated 
on the sand. 

“Oh, Dick! Our andirons are all burned up. The 
pail is in the fire. They’re as black as — as your hat. 
Oh, isn't it too bad ! — And we didn't catch a fish." 

“No, we didn’t catch a fish." 

“But we have a lovely lunch — cake — and chicken, 
and oranges — I saw mother put them in, — and the 
potatoes mayn't be so bad." She fished the pail from 
the coals with a crooked stick. “No, they aren't. Just 
burned on one side. It'll give them a real camping- 
out flavor. I shan't mind if they're only burned on 
one side; shall you, Dick? 'Tain't as though we 
couldn't eat them." 

They spread out the red-fringed napkins and began 


252 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


to take out the lunch. How good it did look! They 
scraped some of the butter off their bread to put on 
the potatoes. 

“Isn’t it strange that things never taste so good at 
home? What is it? — That lovely resiny smell that 
gives us such an appetite, or just because we’re in the 
woods? Isn’t this a beautiful pine tree we’re under? 
The needles are so soft they’re just like a cushion. I 
wouldn’t mind sleeping here all night, would you? 
If we had something to cover up with, it would be just 
as comfortable. We could cover up with leaves, 
couldn’t we? We’d be the babes in the woods then. 
It must be lovely to be a tramp and camp out all the 
time. Did you ever feel, Dick, as though you would 
love to be a tramp? I found a tramps’ ‘roost’ once. 
There was an interesting black patch where they’d 
had a fire and a part of a log was smoldering yet, and 
in the bushes there were some smoky tomato cans and 
an old spider. I know they must have had just a 
delightful time, only I shouldn’t have a roost, it 
sounds so — so unclean. It’s smells that makes me 
want to be a tramp. I can stand seeing things, though 
it gives me a tugging sensation, when the' little green 
things push up in the spring, I mean, and you feel 
that everything has sat still just as long as ever it 
can and something will burst if it can not wiggle. 
You can just fairly feel the earth crawling under 
your feet with things that want to get out — but when 


FISHERMAN’S LUCK 


253 


the smells come floating over from nobody knows 
where and you sit out in the garden and try to name 
them, only they're a thousand times sweeter than any- 
thing you ever smelled — arbutus, and beauties, and 
lilacs, and roses, and these piney smells too, and earth 
all mixed together by the little spring whirlwinds, I 
suppose, then it's as much as ever I can do to be 
civilized. I want to go and go and I don't want ever 
to stop. I respect tramps, Dick Moxie. I don’t know 
which is the worst — to stay in the house and be nice 
and miss all these things, or to just wade in 'em all 
your life and never be nice. There's a lot to miss both 
ways, I s'pose. Now, a tramp must miss knives and 
forks and tablecloths and — and soap; but it would be 
terrible to miss this." She lay down and rolled over 
luxuriously. She crossed her hands on her waist front 
contentedly. 

“I never felt so perfectly satisfied in my life," she 
admitted, “and here's a wing and a drumstick left 
for supper, and two lovely slices of cake and all this 
bread; besides all this for the Appetite. Where is 
she ? She ought to be able to smell these chicken bones 
a mile away. She's usually right on deck at meal 
time." 

“Well, she's got something more interesting to 
occupy her time." They listened and heard her bay- 
ing a mile away. 

“How she is enjoying it. Isn't it too bad people are 


17 


254 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


made to want to do something they can't? Now, if 
dogs loved to lie down and be quiet and well behaved 
and roll over when their masters wanted them to, and 
thought it was simply delightful to be tied up and 
have a brass name tag and detested chasing squirrels, 
for instance ; and if I only loved to stay home and help 
mother and Jane and get lessons and piece quilts for 
a setting out; but I don’t, I abominate it and dearly 
love to do things that I oughtn’t to do. Why is it 
the things we oughtn’t to do are so nice? What a 
-relief it would be if we could only adjust things so 
there wouldn’t be a continual battle inside of one 
between the ‘want to’ and the ‘ought to’? There are 
always the terrible remains of things that had to be 
sacrificed, you know, and sometimes one is a gory 
battlefield strewn with dead. One gets to dreading it 
so that after a while the very fact that one ought to is 
a sign that one don’t want to. Oh, isn’t it a wretched 
combination? And think! we’ll never get over it. 
We’ll always be hankering and hunting around for 
something we haven’t been told we could do. Do you 
suppose that if these were the things that we had to 
do, if playing croquet and ball and building bonfires 
were, do you suppose we’d hate them as bad — as bad 
as we do the dishes, for instance? Oh, I suppose we 
would ! It’s just our horrible natures ! If we couldn’t 
do all those disagreeable things we’d break our necks 
to get at them. Now, there’s the Appetite racing 


FISHERMAN’S LUCK 


255 


her legs off and going wild over a squirrel she 
can't get, while all these delicious scraps go begging. 
Human nature is a terrible problem. — And old Dob- 
bins is wrecking the buggy for a measly wisp of wild 
grass with plenty of good civilized hay right under 
her nose. Come ? help me pick some, Dick Moxie, 
and then we'll go! I want to go away over there in 
those shadows, they look so deep and cool. Don't 
you really believe the fish would bite better over there, 
Dick?” 

The water slipped over the oars with a soft splash. 
Marjorie watched the little eddying holes as they 
drifted away from the oar's end. A long streak of 
silver followed the stern of the boat. She could put 
her hands in now. Dick was not fishing. How cool 
and soothing the water felt as it rushed through her 
fingers! She looked over the edge at her image and 
laughed. What a lovely green color water was when 
you were once upon it and yet from the bank it looked 
blue — as blue as the sky. She wondered why it was. 
There weren't any waves, not even tiny ripples. It 
was like polished glass. Oh, it would be lovely to be 
out when there were waves and whitecaps ! Wouldn't 
it be grand to be out in a storm with great breakers 
tossing the boat from one side to the other, with the 
wind dashing wet spray in your face, and black 
threatening clouds in the sky and lightning that you 
could see just as plain in the water as you could above 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


*256 

you ? Oh, there was something powerful about water ! 
It made one feel big just to look at it. 

“This looks like a bass hole,” Dick suggested, as 
they skirted a great ragged snag and came into the 
► shadow. He laid the oars down softly and threw 
in his line. Marjorie got out her pole, too. They sat 
very still for a few minutes. Not a breath seemed to 
stir the leaves on shore. All nature seemed motion- 
less. Their lines lay slack. Marjorie tried to peer 
into the darkened surface but all its mysteries were 
withheld from her. If there were fishes they swam 
about in unbroken seclusion. Turtles paddled about 
in the ooze and slime of the bottoms unmolested. 

“Wouldn’t it be lovely to be a mermaid?” Marjorie 
whispered. “Think of floating and diving and splash- 
ing about down there! Being able to see all the 
wonderful things and live in a lovely sea-castle. Right 
here would be a lovely place for a mermaid to build 
a castle. I wonder if there is one down there ! Oh, I 
should dearly love to be a mermaid !” 

“What’s the matter with being a fish and done 
with it?” 

“There’s all the difference in the world, I should 
say. Just the difference of being caught and fried 
and not being — that’s enough, isn’t it? Who ever 
heard of frying a mermaid ! Mermaids are just you, 
only with fins and things to swim with, and they can 
breathe just as well out of water as in it. They have 


FISHERMAN’S LUCK 


257 


heads and think beautiful thoughts. I've read about 
mermaids. Once there was a lovely mermaid who 
pined away wearing seaweed trying to catch a lover. 
It’s very fascinating to read about mermaids. Fishes 
are common. What's the reason they don't bite? 
We haven't caught a one. My arm's numb. Have 
you had a nibble? I think I had one but she slipped 
off. It must be getting late. I wish they'd bite if 
they're going to. Do you believe this is a good place ? 
There! My bobber's bobbing. I'm going to haul it 
in." She did. The hook was empty. 

“Why, I forgot to bait it. Oh, well! I don't care. 
I'm not going to now. Let me off on shore ! You can 
fish if you want to. I'm tired. There's a lovely sand 
bar over there. I'm going to wade." 

She promptly began undressing her feet. With 
Marjorie to think was to act. The water was deli- 
ciously cool and refreshing. She splashed and paddled 
to her heart's content. There was no one to see but an 
anxious mother plover and a family of little plovers, 
and they were paddling too and hadn’t anything to 
say. Marjorie laughed at them, they looked so, as 
though they had their clothes rolled up to keep them 
out of the water. Beautiful shells and bright polished 
pebbles strewed the sand and Marjorie gathered a 
pocketful. She meant to fill a bottle with them when 
she got home and tie a ribbon around the neck. It 
would make a lovely paper weight for Jane. Sitting 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


258 

flat on the sand, she buried her feet and built an 
imposing fort above them, then wiggling her toes she 
caused an earthquake to destroy a city. 

Around the bend she could see Dick sitting patiently 
in the boat’s stern, holding to his pole. 

“Caught anything?” she kept calling. At first he 
answered “No,” bravely, then he took to shaking his 
head, finally he ceased answering altogether. 

“It’s lovely over here,” Marjorie tormented him. 
“You haven’t any idea how nice it is to wade. Oh, 
Dick, I’ve found a pearl, the loveliest little pinky one ! 
Do you suppose it is genuine? It’s as big as my little 
finger nail. How much do you s’pose it’s worth, 
Dick? How do you know it’s a piece of clam shell? 
It isn’t. Come over and see! Are you going to fish 
all day? I’m in clear over my knees.” 

Dick gave up at last and rowed over sullenly. 
“S’pose we’d better be pulling for home,” he admitted. 

“Oh, Dick! So soon? Aren’t you going to wade 
any? It’s a perfectly delightful sensation. The sand 
is so warm and soft. Do!” 

“No, I don’t care anything about it. I guess we’d 
better pull out.” Dick was stubbornly dejected. 

“Hasn’t it been a perfectly lovely trip?” Marjorie 
remarked for the hundredth time as they neared shore. 
“There hasn’t been a thing lacking.” 

“Nothing but the fish,” Dick suggested drily. 

“Oh, well, that' isn’t much of an obstacle. Fish 


FISHERMAN’S LUCK 


259 


would have been a lot of bother. It would flop and act 
horribly and somebody would have to clean it. After 
all, it seems to me we are very fortunate. We’ve had 
all the fun of fishing, haven’t we — and — and the 
fishes are much better off.” But Dick couldn’t see it. 

“Well, anyhow, there’s the chicken,” Marjorie per- 
sisted, bound to be comforting. “You may have the 
drumstick, I’ll pick the wing. Surely that will help 
out some. Oh, Dick! What’s that black thing float- 
ing?” Marjorie pointed an excited finger. “ — It’s 
a head! It’s the Appetite. Oh, Dick! she’ll drown. 
She’s going down this minute. See her roll her eyes ! 
She hasn’t a breath left.” Together they dragged 
her, wet and "flopping, over the boat’s edge. 

“You horrible, horrible dog! Supposing you had 
drowned, and after father has paid three dollars to 
save you!” Marjorie hugged her effusively. “Did 
you find the lovely, juicy bones, you dear old doggie 
woggie? You’ve had a perfectly lovely time, haven’t 
you ? There, now ! You must let me get out ! You’re 
the nicest, dearest old dog! You must keep down, 
now, while Dickie and I eat something. I’m starv- 
ing. Isn’t it comforting to think that we saved — 
Oh, Dick, something’s been in it ! There isn’t a thing, 
even the napkins are on the ground. Not even a 
little teenty crumb. Oh, Dick!” She turned accusing 
eyes upon the Appetite. 

“You horrible, selfish dog! Gg right away! I 


26 o 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


don't love you any more. You’re wretched! Don’t 
you wag your tail at me! You haven’t any more 
conscience than a — a porpoise. You’d steal from your 
crippled grandmother. Here, Dick! Here’s a cold 
potato apiece. That’s something. Thank goodness, 
she couldn’t get at them. They aren’t very prepos- 
sessing, but this is one of the times when we can’t 
afford to be critical. I — I hope mother will have 
beans for supper — beans and — and Johnnie cake.” 

“Ham and eggs,” put in Dick. 

“Yes, and apple dumpling. Apple dumpling is 
filling — very. Well, it’s worth something to get a 
good appetite,” Marjorie suggested, cheerfully, as 
they urged old Dobbins into a trot. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 
A case of “being kind by being unkind”. 

Marjorie had fled to the hammock directly after the 
midday meal. Twice had Jane come to the kitchen 
door and called her loudly, and once mother’s mild 
voice had petitioned her to come in, but she only 
drew her feet up farther and rocked desperately. The 
old maple was friendly and drooped lopping branches 
to shield her. She even pulled her thick braids over 
her ears as if to shut out the sound. She wasn’t go- 
ing in. It was Jane’s turn to wash them, anyhow, 
and there were stacks and stacks of them, with all the 
tin things from mother’s baking, and company to 
dinner, too. She saw piles and piles of dirty dishes 
stacked up on the kitchen table as she ran through. 

“I always have to wash them on Saturday noons, 
and Jane knows there’s just carloads of them. I’m 
not going,” she determined, savagely. She was mak- 
ing a crown out of maple leaves. She tried it on to 
see how it fitted. 

“There, now! I’ll be a queen, Jane Ann Moxie, 
and you shall wash the dishes ; see if you don’t ! This 
hammock shall be my throne. Who dares to approach 
261 


262 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


the queen’s throne? You should be delighted to serve 
the queen, my dear sister. A whole panful of plates, 
to say nothing of cups and saucers! Let me see — 
mother baked cake and pie and doughnuts, not to 
mention bread.” Marjorie sighed. “My conscience 
pricks terribly, but I’m not going in; you might as 
well save your breath, ‘Mar-jo-r-e-e! Mar-jo-r-e-e !’ 
Jane Moxje, you’re a regular old mimic. I’d change 
the inflection, at least. That gets monotonous. Do 
hush up! I’m afraid you’ll break a lung. I hope 
you’re not worried on my account, good, solicitous 
Jane! I am well and thriving, thank you. I should 
advise you to get at those dishes if you mean to get 
through them before supper. And I s’pose father’ll 
have the missionaries over again to eat us out of 
house and home. No wonder mother baked a whole 
half day. It takes a lot to fill them up. I suppose 
they contract the eating habit of the cannibals. 
There ! I do believe she’s commenced.” She pricked 
her ears to catch the rattle of china in the kitchen. 

“Poor Jane! I don’t care — I did it last. This is 
a case of being kind by being unkind. If I humored 
you, you would no doubt grow up to be selfish and 
horrid. I’m no Mary Jane Dishwasher. I think 
father ought to get one if he means to feed many 
missionaries. I’ll sweep the room by and by, though 
it isn’t my turn to do that, either. I’m writing poetry, 
thank your honor; that is, I’m going to if things ever 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 263 

simmer down. I'd like to know what chance a body 
ever has to do anything in this house, anyhow. You 
couldn't even hear yourself think." She drew some 
crumpled sheets out from under the hammock pillow. 

; “Let me see! Where was I? Oh! 

“The moon shone bright o’er the garden fair, 

“What rhymes with fair ? Hair, rare, glare, ware, 
stair. I suppose I could say: 

“The moon shone bright o’er the garden fair, 

As beautiful Mabel came down the stair— 

“But stairs and gardens don't seem to harmonize 
very well. You see, this is going to be a medley like — 
like 'The Princess', and it's going to have a knight in 
it and a coal-black charger, and the lady is going to 
pine in a garden. She's pining now. It seems as 
though it would be easier to pine in the moonlight. 
Let's see, now! 

“The moon shone bright o’er the garden fair, 

On Lady Mabel with golden hair. 

“That's pretty. If I can think of two more as sweet 
as that!" 

“It got in her eyes and made her rear, 

And caused her golden hair to tear,” 

Dick finished mockingly, creeping up through the 


264 


MARJORIE MOXIE 

t 

grass on his hands and knees. Marjorie fell headfirst 
out of the hammock, gesticulating wildly. 

“S-s-h-h!” she commanded, clapping a compelling 
hand over Dick’s mouth. “Now don’t you dare to 
holler ! Don’t you make a noise ! Do you hear, Dick 
Moxie? If you do, I’ll — I’ll gag you. If you had 
half eyes you could see I was hid.” She burrowed 
down into the tall grass. “Do you know how near 
Jane has got the dishes done?” she whispered, 
tragically. “Has she begun to wipe?” 

“She’ll get you in a minute,” Dick warned. “She 
was just out to the barn looking all over, and she 
speared all over the hay with the pitchfork.” 

“Well, she won’t, alive.” Marjorie was terrible. 
“I’m writing poetry and I don’t propose to be 
interrupted.” 

“I’ll help you out,” Dick proffered, agreeably. 

“She sat on a worn seat all alone, 

And the moonlight over her shone.” 

“That wouldn’t hardly do, for I’ve mentioned the 
moonlight twice.” 

“Yes, it’s pretty much moonlight.” 

“Well, then, how’s this: 

“She sat alone on the garden seat — ” 

Marjorie corrected, thoughtfully. 

“And the moonlight also shone on her feet. 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 265 


“That rhymes beautifully — seat and feet. You 
couldn’t ask for anything better than that, Marj,” 
Dick suggested. 

“Well, I’m not asking for anything, am I? When 
I do it’s time for you to chime in. I’d like to know 
who could write poetry or anything else with you 
clacking. I don’t want to hear any of your foolish 
rhymes.” 

“They are not foolish; that’s what ails them. Now 
here’s one that beats yours all hollow : 

“I’m awfully sorry pretty Mabel, 

I’d write you a rhyme but I’m not able.” 

“I guess you’re not. Now keep still! If I need 
your assistance, Dick Moxie, you’ll hear about it.” 

“Oh, there comes Nugget of Gold, Sis! Write one 
about him !” 

“Dear little kitten so warm and fluffy, — ” 

Marjorie began, seriously. “No, that wouldn’t do; 
there isn’t a thing in the world that rhymes with 
fluffy.” 

“Oh, yes, there is ! What’s the matter with this : 

“Dear little kitten so warm and fluffy, 

You’ve eaten so much you are awful stuffy. 

Stuffy rhymes with fluffy, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes, but that’s horrid ; besides, it isn’t true. He’s 


266 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


the dearest little fellow, and he doesn’t eat any more 
than he wants. This is more like it : 

“Dear little kitten as white as snow, 

You’re the dearest little kitten there is, I know, 

You are all pure white except in patches, 

She’s the dearest kitten and never scratches. — ” 

Marjorie proudly recited. 

“It’s all on account of those spots so bold 
That caused your name to be Nugget of Gold. 

I hope you will live to be worth it, my dear, 

And bring good luck to your mistress here. 

“There, now! You couldn’t have done that, Dick 
Moxie, not if you had tried a week. 

“ — It’s all on account of those spots so hold 
That caused your name to be Nugget of Gold.” 

She repeated the pleasing couplet. 

“Huh! Now I’m going to compose one in honor 
of the Appetite.” Dick began: 

“The Appetite was not polite, 

She dearly loved to bark and bite, 

And she would run away and fight. 

“She is a pup of great renown, 

She loves to run away to town, 

And the dog catcher almost ran her down. 

“She got into our lunch one night, 

And never saved a single bite, 

She soon had it all out of sight. 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 267 


“Oh, Appetite, you are a winner ! 

You certainly can get the dinner. 

Oh, you never know what’s in her. 

“There, now ! If that isn’t as good as yours ! It’s 
more truth than poetry, too.” 

“Well, we oughtn’t to show partiality. If we’re 
going to making up poetry about the family, there’s 
Consolation. 

“Dear Consolation is so sad, 

I wonder what can ail her, 

* I feed her lots of bread and milk 
And never, never fail her.” 

“Whoa, now!” Dick stopped her. “It’s my turn. 
There’s Frolic. 

“Poor little Frolic 
Is subject to colic. 

Because she can’t cure it. 

She has to endure it.” 

“And Catastrophe.” Marjorie rubbed her head 
and scratched off the maple crown. 

“Catastrophe, I fail to see 
Where you and poetry agree. 

You may be good but you’re not pretty 
Although it is a woeful pity. 

Yet considering the life you’ve led, 

You may be thankful you’re not dead.” 


“Old Dobbins: 


268 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Old Dobbins is a horse of worth, 

When he goes he jars the earth; 

It takes a lot to get him started, 

From the hitching post he isn’t easily parted, 

But then he gives his tail a fling 
And lights right out like everything.” 

“That isn’t good metre. Besides, Dobbins isn’t one 
of the family. Oh, Dick! I’m going to write one 
about our trip. Now, go away and leave me be! It’ll 
be lovely.” She bent over the paper and chewed her 
stubby pencil thoughtfully. “Let’s see! How’ll I 
begin it? 

“ ’Twas a glorious morning, the sun shone so bright 
And the sky was as blue as could' be, — 

“Isn’t that fine? What rhymes with be?” 

“Me, tea, see, flee, she, gee, agree.” Dick recited 
a long list. Marjorie hunted a stone, but there wasn’t 
any. 

“If you don’t keep still I shall holler for mother. 
It’s a wonder I know enough to pound sand, having 
to be pestered with you all my life. I s’pose you’d 
die of a caniption fit if you had to behave yourself 
two minutes. Now, Dick, do be still; that’s a dear. 

“ ’Twas a glorious morning, the sun was just up, 

The birdies were scarcely awake, 

When we hitched up old Dobbins and started away 
For a long happy day at the lake.” 

“Well, we didn’t hitch him up; he was already 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 269 

hitched/’ Dick interrupted, plucking handfuls of grass 
meditatively. 

“Supposing he was! It doesn’t make any differ- 
ence. In poetry you allow things; you have to; it 
wouldn’t be poetry if you didn’t. Now, hush up! 

“ ’Twas a glorious morning, the sun was just up — ” 

“And there’s another prevarication, right in the 
first line. The sun wasn’t just up. It had been up 
hours. You were in bed when the sun came up, 
Miss. All the king’s oxen couldn’t get you out. You 
know it.” 

“Well, I see you haven’t a grain of manners.” 
Marjorie rose haughtily. “I’d like to stay for the 
development of your mind, and so forth, but I shan’t 
— not with an — ignoramus. I’m going in, Dick 
Moxie, and don’t you dare to follow me! It’s to be 
hoped you’ll lie here and meditate upon your ways.” 

He made a grab at her disappearing skirts and 
missed them. The hall door slammed. In the library 
Marjorie toiled away diligently. 

“The sky was so blue, just a few downy fluffs 
Were the only clouds in sight; 

Tired little lambies they seemed to me, 

Who were out of the fold all night/’ 

“Right, tight, blight, plight, flight,” Dick mocked 
through the keyhole. “Let me see it when you get 

done, will you, Sis?” 

18 


270 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“No, I won’t. You go right straight, away from 
there ! I’d be ashamed to snoop.” 

“I’m not snooping. I’m sitting right here in the 
rocking chair, eating an apple. They’re lovely. The 
groceryman just brought them — yellow harvests. 
Open the door and I’ll give you one!” 

“I don’t want any of your old apples. I can see 
through your tricks. You want to get in, don’t you? 
Well, you won’t.” Marjorie plugged her handker- 
chief in the keyhole. 

“Bright little daisies that grew by the road, 

Nodded good-morning to us — 

“Us, plus, thus, muss, cuss — oh!” 

She could hear Dick smacking tantalizingly out- 
side. He run a long peeling over the threshold. 

n * v. 

“Bright little daisies that grew by the road, 
‘Good-morning/ they said, as we passed — *• 

Passed, last, mast, dast, sassed 

“Bright little daisies that grew by the road — ” 

“Say, Marj ! Going to put in anything about our 
graceful steed? You ought to. Say, 

“Our old bay nag he was a bird, 

If it wasn’t for the gad he never would have stirred. 

“It surely wouldn’t pay to slight one of the leading 
characters.” 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 271 


“Bright little daisies that grew by the road, 
‘Good-morning/ they said, as we came, 

And a dear little squirrel stood up on a fence, 

And gnawed at a nut just as tame.” 

That was true. A dear little squirrel had — though 
it might not have been a nut, still it must have been. 

“Oh, all the way everything was so sweet, — 

The clover, the buckwheat, the flowers, 

We drew long deep breaths and — 

“Oh, say, what rhymes with flowers? Hours, 
towers, sours.” 

“Don’t forget the Appetite. She figures heavy in 
this tragedy. She was the villain. Let me do some 
of the verses. Here’s one: 

“Just to make things exciting, 

The Appetite without inviting, 

Swam out to surprise us. 

My ! we thought she’d capsize us. 

But we got her by the collar — 

Oh, you’d ought to heard her holler! 

— And dragged her in as quick as scat, 

A-looking like a drowned rat. 

Of course, just like an old dog Rover, 

She up and shook herself all over. 

“You can’t improve on that. I tell you, a few 
touches of mine are just what you need. Come! 
Open the door. Do, Sis ! I won’t do nothing.” But 
Marjorie refused to answer, though he pounded on 
the door like an Indian, and let out war-whoop after 


272 


MARJORIE M0X1E 


war-whoop with his mouth close to the jamb. He 
could hear her pegging away. 

“Oh, all of the way everything was so sweet, — 

Pink fields of blossoming clover, 

With patches of buckwheat all whitet on the hills, 

And bees buzzing busily over!” 

When at last Marjorie opened the library door 
Dick had given up the siege and was out in the front 
yard kicking a croquet ball viciously. 

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” he accosted 
her, crossly. 

“Course I do. I know I am. It’s all done and 
there’s fifty verses of it. You shan’t see it, neither, 
to pay you for being so mean.” 

“Huh! I don’t want to. S’pose I’d waste time 
reading fifty verses of that stuff? You must think 
I’ve got lots to do.” 

“Well, it’s good, just the same. It’s got in it all 
about your not getting a bite and about our lunch 
and everything,” she tempted him. “Perhaps I shall 
have it published. It’s good enough a-plenty. If I 
should get forty or fifty dollars for it I guess you’d 
haul in your horns.” 

“Huh! Great stuff, I’ll bet!” Dick snorted. 
“Come! Get a ball if you’re going to play! I’m not 
going to fool around on your motion all summer. 
Edwin Cobb just motioned me to come over.” 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 273 

“Well, why don't you go, then?" 

“I thought you wanted to play croquet." 

“Well, I don't mind playing a game," Marjorie 
admitted reluctantly. “The reds are mine, though. 
That's my mallet. Here's your old yellow thing. 
Give mine here ! Now you start." 

“Oh, yes! You always make me start." 

“Well, what of it? Hadn't you as lief? I don't 
see as it makes any difference." 

“Only just you have me to play on — that's all; but 
I'll go." 

“Oh, no you won't — not now. I'll go myself. Any- 
how I don't need any advantage to beat you. There ! 
I told you! I made both arches at one lick. I’m 
going half way around before you ever get a crack. 
See if 1 don't ! I've got two strokes to make the next 
one. I shan't need but one. Oh!" as the ball rolled 
wide of the arch. “Well, I don't care; I'm out of your 
reach, anyhow. Come on ! What you waiting 
for? There! You missed it, too. You're no bet- 
ter shot than I am. We've both got to strike for 
position. Hold on! It's my turn. There! That's 
a lovely angle. I can make it next time just as easy. 
Oh, Dick! You aren't going to knock me? You 
aren’t. Don't strike it hard. Don't send it away 
across the yard! Please don't. I'll never get back. 
Oh, you did! Clear into the lilac bush! Oh, what 
made you? I never was so mean to you. Well, why 


274 


MARJORIE M0X1E 


don’t you play it alone? You seem to be doing all the 
striking. Isn’t it my turn pretty soon?” 

“Now!” Dick drew a sigh of satisfaction. He 
was half way round. “Catch me, if you can, Sis,” he 
defied her. Marjorie struck savagely — a random shot. 

“Go on !” she snapped, poking her ball with the toe 
of her shoe. 

“Look out! Don’t you go to cheating!” Dick 
warned. 

“Whose turn is it?” Marjorie was dejected. 

“It’s yours. Why don’t you pay attention to the 
game? There! You needn’t strike twice.” 

“Well, who could make an arch with all that grass 
in the road? I should think you’d clean out the field. 
There! Mother’s calling you. You’d better skedad- 
dle, young man!” 

“Huh! Anxious to quit, are you? Well, just as 
soon as I get this one shot. Watch me hit the stake 
at one blow! Bim! I told you I’d do it. ’Fore I’d 
be skunked! How about the reds winning now? 
Hurrah for the orange!” Dick tossed his ball into 
the air triumphantly. 

“Well, I don’t care! It wasn’t fair,” Marjorie pro- 
tested, hitting her ball a vicious stroke that disposed 
of it for the remainder of the season. She made a 
face at Dick as he strutted over the lawn. 

Several days later Dick came tearing madly into the 
house, waving the evening papers. 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 275 

“Ho, ho! Look here! Look here!” he shouted. 
“Miss Marjorie Moxie, age thirteen. ‘One Summer 
Day, Spent at Beautiful Whalen Lake, Northrum, 
Michigan/” he quoted, most impressively. “Behold! 
Miss Marjorie Moxie, poetess ! It's all in here — fifty 
verses. Don’t they look imposing? They take up 
two whole columns. 

“ Twas a glorious morning, the sun was just up — ” 

Marjorie ran in from the kitchen with the wiping 
cloth in her hand, and consternation in her face. The 
familiar words filled her with alarm. Her verses! 
She had left them all safely sealed on the library table, 
and just a little make-believe letter to the editor of the 
Weekly Courier on the inside. Some day she meant to 
be an authoress and there was no harm in practicing 
up. Of course she had addressed it. Dick had gone 
in and taken it. She pounced upon him. 

“Dick Moxie, you put them right straight back! 
Did you tear them open ? Give them to me ! Do you 
hear ?” She stamped her foot impetuously. But Dick 
was standing on a chair with both hands held over his 
head. In vain Marjorie pranced about and tore wildly 
at his legs. 

“I guess I’ve got a right to read them,” he defended 
himself. “ — Anybody can. They’re here in the even- 
ing paper, I tell you, as big as Cuffy.” 

“But — ” Marjorie protested. 


276 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


‘There aren’t any ‘huts’ about it. Look here if yon 
don’t believe me!” Dick displayed a portion of the 
sheet cautiously. “It’s there, isn’t it, just as natural 
as life? Now, will you cool down? I guess every- 
body in town has read about it by this time.” 

Marjorie wilted. And the foolish little note? 
Oh, what could the editor of the Courier think! 

“Give it to me, Dick Moxie! Mother, can’t he? 
It’s mine. Oh, Dick! How could you! You’re the 
meanest, meanest thing. It just lay on the library 
table, and I was fooling, you knew it. You just took it 
because it was the horridest, wretchedest thing you 
could think of. I’ll never forgive you as long as I 
live — never.” 

“Mother said to mail the letters,” Dick defended 
himself. “I gathered up everything in sight, of course, 
why shouldn’t I! If tilers was any reason why it 
shouldn’t be mailed you should have taken care of it. 
A body would naturally suppose that a letter that was 
sealed and addressed — ” 

“Well, come in here and read it, Marjorie !” Father 
Moxie called from the library. “Maybe there isn’t 
much harm done after all. It didn’t reach the waste- 
paper basket evidently. Why are you so anxious to 
keep your light hid under a basket ? Perhaps you have 
more reason to be grateful to Richard than you know. 
Come in and read it, daughter!” 

“It isn’t anything,” Marjorie protested, crumpling 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 277 

at it helplessly. “I just wrote it for fun. It’s just 
about our trip, that’s all.” 

“That doesn’t matter. Simple subjects are always 
best,” Father Moxie persisted. “I want to hear it. 
Perhaps we have a genius in the family.” 

“Oh, I just couldn’t read it, father, don’t ask me!” 
Marjorie hung her head. 

“Yes, you could. Come on!” 

“I’ll read it,’.’ Dick proffered. “I’d just as lief.” He 
made a grab for the paper but Marjorie warded him 
off. 

“Well, you shan’t. That’s settled. If it’s got to be 
read, I’ll read it myself. I shan’t have you bungling 
it up.” And this is the poem as it appeared in the 
Northrum Weekly Courier : 

ONE SUMMER DAY, 

SPENT AT BEAUTIFUL WHALEN LAKE, 

NORTHRUM, MICHIGAN. 

’Twas a glorious morning, the sun was just up, 

The birdies were scarcely awake, 

When we hitched up old Dobbin and started away 
For a long happy day at the lake. 

The sky was so blue, just a few downy fluffs, 

Were the only clouds in sight — 

Tired little lambies they seemed to me, 

Who were out of the fold all night. 

“Get up !” to old Dobbin my brother said, 

And he ambled away at ease. 

Old Dobbin was not the horse to be crossed 
But always to do as he pleased. 


278 MARJORIE MOXIE 

And after all it did not matter. 

For who would hurry away, 

When so many wonderful, beautiful things 
All about us lay ! 

Bright little daisies that grew by the road, 
“Good-morning,” they said, as we came, 

And a dear little squirrel stood on the fence. 

And gnawed at a nut just as tame. 

Oh, all of the way everything was so sweet, — 

Great fields of blossoming clover, 

With patches of buckwheat all white on the hills, 

And bees buzzing busily over. 

And just at the edge of a cool, shady spot — 

“Oh, brother, what is it I smell ! 

Red raspberries? Oh, if it is let us stop, 

For there’s nothing I love quite so well !” 

We stopped. And ’twas true, — great clusters of them, 
Peeping out of their bowers of green. 

We ate and we ate — I know that I ate 
Till I was ashamed to be seen. 

Then into the buggy we clambered again, 

After giving old Dobbin a bite, 

And ambled along a flower-bordered road, 

That filled mv poor heart with delight. 

There were roses and bluebells and bonnets and pinks, 
Just blazing along the hillside, 

And wonderful birds singing up in the trees, 

I couldn’t tell half if I tried. 

Bv and by I looked way through the trees and it seemed 
That I saw the blue sky far below, 

But I knew we hadn’t climbed any hill 
And of course it couldn’t be so. 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 

“Oh what is it, brother ?” I cried with delight, 

But he left me to wait and see, 

I closely watched and a wonderful sight, 

Dawned on me presently. 

’Twas the lake, like a silvery sheet of glass, 

Sunk in the bushes there, 

Fringed around with beautiful trees, 

That caused me to sit and stare. 

In a flash we were out, old Dobbin was hitched, 
And we would have hastened to ride, 

If it hadn’t been we were both possessed 
With a terrible gnawing inside. 

We wanted to go, the lake seemed to draw, 
With a thousand invisible wires. 

Now I’m sure I know quite well what it means, 
By “being between two fires.” 

We gathered some sticks, at least brother did, 

I washed potatoes the while, 

And soon we had things bubbling up 
In truly camping style. 

Oh, what is more fun than to camp in the woods 
And cook things over a fire? 

I love the piney smell of the smoke, 

It always did me inspire. 

But alas, the lake lured us out for a trip, 

While the potatoes boiled. 

We thought we would try to catch a fish, 

And stayed till they burned and spoiled. 

That’s the way when people do not decide, 

As they ought if they have good sense, 

And put both feet on one side or the other 
And not sit astraddle the fence. 


279 


28 o 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


Of course we didn’t catch any fish 
To pay us for whiffling about; 

But we’d brought a beautiful lunch from home, 
And could very well do without. 

There was lovely fried chicken and cheese and cake, 
.Some beautiful oranges too, 

Sandwiches and pickles, I’m sure ’twas enough 
To satisfy any, aren’t you? 

Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned these things, 
I’m not at all stp*e that I should, 

I’m not certain they were poetical 
But 'I’m very sure they were good. 

Well, our troubles once over we set out at last, 
After giving old Dobbin his hay, 

This time we were going across the lake 
And soon we were sailing away. 

Oh, I never knew that water was green, 

I always thought it was blue, 

Like a beautiful piece of bottle glass 
That one is looking through. 

I put in my hand and the water slipped through, 
Cool and gurgling and soft. 

I made it into whirlpools and things, 

I should love to do it oft. 

Oh, did you ever row on a lake, 

And hold your hand into it? 

Such a lovely sensation it gives to one, 

If you haven’t you ought to do it. 

Oh, water, especially a lake like that, 

Reflecting the clouds above it, 

So calm and peaceful and yet so strong, 

Oh, who could help but love it! 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 28 


Not I, and yet I would love it best, 

I believe, when it raves and tosses, 
'Reaching its strong white hands to the bank 
To tear away the mosses. 

For I love to see its mighty power, 

That naught has e’er controlled, 

It makes me feel that even I 
Could be both great and bold. 

We found a lovely place, 

As shady as one could wish, 

And Dick and I got our poles 
And then began to fish. 

But it was such a dreamy day, 

The fish were dreamy too, 

And didn’t care at all for worms, 

I wouldn’t either, would you? 

I dreamt I was a mermaid green 
And seaweed was my hair, 

I hadn’t baited my hook at all 
And didn’t even care. 

I thought I was a mermaid green, 

And lived in a pink seashell, 

And all the little fishes came, 

With me in peace to dwell, 

I thought I sported on the sand 
And on a reed did play, 

Till all the little seashell ears, 

Perked up and turned my way. 

I thought I was a mermaid dressed 
In silver scales and green, 

I was the prettiest mermaid that 
Had ever yet been seen. 


2 82 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


I combed my shining seaweed hair 
With a lovely real shell comb, 

If any one molested me, 

A splash, and I was home. 

The fish they didn’t bite at all, 

But then, what did that matter! 

But Dick he sat and held his pole 
As mad as any hatter. 

The fishes no doubt, it seemed to me, 

Were far more comfortable there; 

So if everybody was satisfied, 

Why ! why need any one care ! 

So I went to the bank and paddled around 
I’m sure that nobody saw, 

And left Dick to do the fishing alone, 

With a face as long as a moral law. 

Oh, it is such fun to go splashing about 
Without any stockings or shoes; 

Or you can sit on the warm soft sand 
And bury your feet if you choose. 

I called my feet the Invisible Power, 

Built o’er them a city and steeple, 

When whiff ! In a breath, just the quirk of a toe, 
’Way went a thousand people. 

And that is the way in this world uncertain, 

We never can tell what lies in under, 

We build great plans or cities perhaps, 

And when they fall we stand and wonder. 

And rowing home, Oh ! what should befall, 

But our dog we had left on the brink, 

Set out to swim to the boat ; I was scared, 

For fear the poor creature would sink. 


THE STRUGGLES OF GENIUS 283 

She came lip all panting, with eyes bulging big, 

“Oh brother ! Quick ! Quick 1 or she dies.” 

And it does seem he never can drag her inside 
No matter how hard that he tries. 

But at last he has her by the hair, 

And soon she lies before us, 

But she felt so little gratitude 
She shook herself all o’er us. 

We thought it was time we were getting home, 

And of course we thought of mother; 

But because we hadn’t caught any fish 
My heart it ached for brother. 

“Never mind,” I said, “there’s a lovely lunch, 

That we left when we ate our dinner.” 

But that ungrateful dog had been, 

And eaten it up, the sinner! 

I suppose you all say “fisherman’s luck”; 

But I think it was all for the best, 

We had all the happiness we could hold 
And left the fishes the rest. 

It was cold going back. We got out the robe, 

And snuggled it up behind us, 

And old Dobbin lit out lively for home 
And the Appetite trotted behind us. 

And now I’ve told you the tho’ and thus, 

This may not be anything to you but ’twas a lot to us. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 

“Wouldn’t it be horrid if nature had to be dull and modest to 
please a few poky people who think they are artistic?” 

“What are you doing ?” Janet appeared in the 
kitchen door with an armful of cotton scraps. The 
unusual silence in the back part of the house had 
aroused her suspicions. She peered in curiously. 

“Nothing.” Marjorie stood guard over the kitchen 
cabinet. She did not turn around. 

“Yes, you are. Let me see!” 

“No, I’m not. I’m just standing here scraping out 
a spoon.” 

“Let me see it.” 

“Well, there! look if you want to!” Marjorie thrust 
a sticky cake spoon over her shoulder. 

“That isn’t all.” Jane was approaching persistently 
nearer. Marjorie dragged a bread cloth over some- 
thing and turned to face her. 

“Well, now, what do you see, Miss Spinster Spy? 
I s’pose you really feel satisfied. I told you I was 
scraping spoons.” But Jane was inexorable. 

“There ! Look for yourself if you’re bound to know. 
I’m sure I don’t know what you would call it. Name 
284 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 


285 

it and you can have it. It doesn't seem to be anything 
in particular and everything in general. I guess it's 
a — a failure. It's sugar and flour and butter and eggs 
— it's everything but cake. I wonder what ails it?" 
Marjorie appealed to Jane helplessly. “I put in every- 
thing I could think of — a whole teaspoonful of lovely 
vanilla flavoring, and some of mother's dried blue- 
berries, and everything." 

“Did you beat the sugar and eggs?" 

“Yes, of course, I beat everything. I wasn't a bit 
saving of elbow grease. I put in the flour and the 
butter and the milk and then the eggs and the sugar. 
I didn't beat the sugar and eggs any harder than I 
did anything else. I beat it all in half an hour. That 
ought to be enough, hadn't it?" 

“Did you put in baking powder?" 

“Baking powder? Of course not. There wasn't 
a thing in it the least bit sour; why should I put in 
baking powder? Why, there isn't anything to raise, 
is there? What!" 

“The cake, of course." 

“Oh!" Marjorie stood looking down upon it help- 
lessly. It certainly did look as though it needed some- 
thing of an uplifting nature. It was most decidedly 
depressed. She touched the resisting surface gingerly 
with her forefinger. “Was baking powder all it 
lacked?" She asked remorsefully. 

“Well, the sugar and eggs should have been beaten 

19 


286 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


first, and then the butter beaten in, thinned with milk, 
and the baking powder and flour sifted in together.” 

“Oh!” Marjorie was humble. “I didn’t know as 
it made any difference which went in first.” 

“The principal thing it lacks,” Jane said with 
increasing importance — “is experience. It takes much 
more of that than anything else to do things well. 
You ought to have asked advice of older people. 
It’s a sin to waste good stuff like that.” Marjorie’s 
spirit came back with a rush. 

“You waste things yourself,” she retorted. “Dick 
and I have found them out ; only sometimes you don’t 
and we choke them down at the risk of life to save 
hurting your feelings. You ought to be as considerate 
of other people. I should think you’d be very sparing 
of your criticisms, at least till the memory of that last 
terrible cottage pudding gets out of people’s mouths. 
Even father went away pale. I wouldn’t say anything 
if I were you after the awful concoctions you’ve 
imposed upon the family.” 

“At least, I never made anything that looked like 
that.” Jane defended her reputation. 

“That’s just it. It’s its looks that’s against it. It 
tastes all right. Dick will eat it,” Marjorie suggested 
brightening up. “He’ll eat anything. Here’s some 
frosting he can have too if he wants it.” She drew a 
saucer out from under the shelf recklessly. “At least 
it’s eggs and sugar, but it hasn’t frosted and it won’t. 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 


287 

I don't know what ails the old stuff and I don't care. 
He can have it and welcome unless you would like 
to sample it, my dear Jane. He will probably be 
delighted. You can't ruin Dick's digestion." 

“Evidently you will never be a good cook," Jane 
remarked disparagingly. 

“Well, I don't want to be. I haven't any ambition 
in that line. Never fear, I shall not try to wrest the 
crown from you. You may have the honors for all of 
me. I aspire to something higher." 

“I think it had better be the dishes for the time 
being," Jane remarked scathingly. “Here it is ten 
o'clock and you haven't touched them. I thought you 
were going to do wonders this morning while mother 
was gone." 

“Well, I have, haven't I? Isn't this wonderful?" 
Marjorie brandished the cake tin tragically. “Greater 
things yet am I about to do; but it shall not be the 
dishes. For once I am going to prolong the evil hour 
to the last possible moment. I'm going to clean house, 
that's what I'm going to do. If you're going mussing 
around with carpet rags I should advise you to mosey 
along up stairs as I mean to monopolize this floor. I 
think it's time somebody got a cleaning-up spell. 
Things look as though they needed it." She led the 
way to the sitting room, and swung her arms about 
to take in everything. 

“Aren't things orderly? Aren't they clean? When 


288 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


was that lambrequin taken down and cleaned, or that 
rack dusted? Never, I should say — but for once I’m 
going to make things fly. You can sit around and 
mope with old carpet rags if you want to. Just look 
behind those pictures! Do you see the dust? And 
here’s a cobweb — a cobweb right in our sitting room. 
It’s a wonder some one isn’t hung. I’m just everlast- 
ingly going to tear things up. I’ll surprise mother.” 

“Yes, I guess you will, all right,” Jane remarked 
ironically. 

“Well, I mean to clean this room, and the library, 
and the dining room, and mother’s bedroom. 
Mother’s bedroom never gets a thorough going over. 
We never touch it and she never has time. It’s a 
shame how you and I neglect mother. When was she 
ever away for a day before? Answer me that! She 
never can get ready for church any more after primp- 
ing us. But she’s away to-day, thank goodness, and 
I’ll make the time count. I mean to drag all the rugs 
out on the lawn and beat the life out of them. I’m 
going to black the stove in the dining room. I wonder 
if there’s any blacking. And I mean to wash every 
window and rub off all the woodwork. I wonder 
where the ammonia bottle is. I want some right now 
to rub off these picture frames.” 

“I think I’d sweep before I commenced washing 
things,” Jane suggested. “They’ll be all dust again.” 

“Well, I mean to stand them all up on the porch 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 289 

and in the yard. Here ! Help me get this one down ! 
Don’t stand there like a stodden bottle ! At least you 
might help me move things. There are all those heavy 
bookcases in the library. It will be a blessing to get 
them swept under. I’m tired of sweeping around 
them. There may not be a particle of dirt under them 
but I always feel as though there were pecks. I’ll 
scour out the vases too. No one ever does that. They 
just go and fire out an old bouquet and set them right 
back. Just look at all the brown horrid rings in 
mother’s very best one. You threw out the* last 
bouquet, too, yourself — I saw you — sweet peas. 
They’re out there in the yard this very minute. You 
only went to the door and fired them out and you 
know mother wants us to burn every one. They look 
lovely, don’t they ? All those superannuated bouquets 
staring one in the face ! I think you’d better mosey out 
and gather them up. I think when I get through I 
shall go to the store and get a new crepe paper for 
that shelf. It looks like a fright. Anyhow, I might 
as well tear this one off. What color would you 
suggest, Jane — pink?” 

“I think the one that’s on looks very well. It’s a 
dull modest color.” 

“I don’t like dull modest colors. Now this wall 
paper is dull and modest. It takes all the heart out of 
one. I like things to look bright and cheerful. I 
don’t think they can be too bright. Is the outdoors 


2go 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


ever too bright? Wouldn’t it be horrible if nature 
had to be dull and modest to please a few poky people 
who think they are artistic? She mixes her colors to 
suit herself — red and blue, and green and yellow — 
and it doesn’t shock anybody. I don’t think, Jane 
Moxie, that a pink crepe scarf against a background 
of green wall paper is any worse than a spray of pink 
roses against a green outdoors. You’d clap your 
hands to see that, you know you would.” 

Marjorie whisked all the bric-a-brac off into Mother 
Moxie’s shoe box deftly. In a few minutes the house 
looked as though a cyclone had gone through it. 
Stacks of books and magazines decorated the hall. 
Chairs were piled helter skelter, each bearing its share 
of the burden of things out of place. Father’s Morris 
rocker held the bust of Lincoln and mother’s work- 
basket — bulging with stockings. The spindle-legged 
reception chair bore up bravely under the glass case 
of curios, Dick’s banjo, and Jane’s fancy box of photo- 
graphs. The organ stool was topped with four sofa 
pillows and mother’s hand-painted plaque. Marjorie, 
with sleeves rolled up and a red-bordered towel pinned 
over her head, was bustling about energetically. The 
little bronze image fell all over himself to get out 
of her way, and the plaster of Paris shepherdess 
groveled humbly in the dust. With mother’s big 
.bib apron on and a dust cloth pinned over the broom, 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 


291 

the household crumbled before her. Dick came crowd- 
ing in through the dust, holding his nose. 

“Well, you're making a pretty mess of things," he 
accused her. “I should think you'd choke a body to 
death and be done with it. Jane never makes such a 
dust." 

“Good reason why. It's because she don't that 
I have to. You don't suppose dust comes in a minute, 
do you, Dick Moxie? This has been accumulating for 
ages. It's a good thing somebody has the energy to 
dig it out once in a while." 

“Well, you'd better look out, you'll dig mother's 
carpet all to pieces." 

“Oh, Dick ! Look in there on the table at the lovely 
bouquets I've got all picked." Marjorie rested on her 
broom. “Sweet peas for mother's room and those 
lovely asters for the library, and nasturtiums for the 
dining room. Don't they look dear in that little Dutch 
bowl? Now, when I get things fixed I shall have to 
set them around." 

“It would have looked about as well if you'd waited 
till you had got this mess cleaned up before you went 
to fooling with flowers," Dick reproved her. “You 
always get the cart before the horse. Why do you 
always do the nice things first?" 

“Because that's the way to do. There isn't but just 
so much time, is there? Well, if anything gets left 
mightn't it better be something horrid than something 


292 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


perfectly lovely, say! If one leaves all the pleasant 
things that make it really worth while to do anything 
till all the ugly disagreeable things are done they'll 
never do them, and then they'll be cross and disap- 
pointed. I believe in taking some of the good things 
first. Now, if everything isn't done we'll have these 
lovely bouquets and they'll comfort us, won't they?" 

“A lot of comfort I should say, especially when 
there isn't a thing in the house to eat." Dick peered 
into the kitchen. “What! Aren’t the dishes done? 
Well, you're a dandy. No fire and no dishes and no 
dinner. What do you suppose mother will say to 
that?" 

“I don't think she'll say anything five miles away, 
Dick Moxie. And if you're like to starve there's a 
cake out there on the table you can have, and some 
frosting to frost it with, too, if you want. I just baked 
it myself and you may have the whole of it. You 
can't say I'm not generous. There! take it and go 
along out doors." Marjorie thrust the tin upon him. 

“A what did you say it was, Sis?" Dick looked 
incredulous. “A pancake, I should say. You made 
a mistake and took it for a chair cushion, didn't 
you? What's the matter with it?" He sampled it 
gingerly from the corner. “You didn't put any of 
mother's hair tonic in it, did you?" 

“No, I didn’t, goose. You needn't stand there and 
gobble it up. Take it along out doors if you want to! 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 


293 

The object is to get rid of you. And don’t let’s hear 
any more about being hungry !” 

‘'No, I probably shan’t be hungry again for a spell,” 
Dick remarked, accepting the tin with martyr-like 
resignation. "If you come upon me rolling in death 
agonies you’ll wish you had had a little mercy. I’m 
going out behind the shed; if you don’t see anything 
of me for several hours perhaps you’d better look after 
my remains.” 

"Don’t worry! If you were a whole hour without 
pestering somebody the whole town would be out in 
alarm. Now go. Are you going?” 

"I’d laugh if the minister’d come.” Dick turned on 
his heel for one last survey. "You certainly have been 
making a mess. I’d like to know where a body could 
sit down if they’d call.” 

"They wouldn’t sit. They’d stand up same as I’m 
doing, or they could go out and sit on the grass, I 
wouldn’t care. If ministers are bound to call they’ll 
have to take things as they find them. Things have 
to be done in spite of ministers. I guess they’d never 
find things in apple-pie order if somebody didn’t work 
sometime. It wouldn’t make any difference to me 
if the King of England should call. Do you think it 
would, Dick Moxie ? I’d go right on getting cob- 
webs.” She stood on tiptoe to stab the duster savagely 
into the farthest corner. "I shouldn’t even take off 
this apron.” 


294 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“I'll bet you wouldn’t! You’d fairly tear your hair. 
I can see Mis’ Slocum, edging in here in her black 
silk.” 

“Well, I can’t, and if you don’t quit wrenching those 
curtain knobs you’ll have them wrenched off entirely. 
I thought you were going. If you want to do some- 
thing so bad suppose you wash the windows on the 
outside. You know you can handle the heavy ladders 
better than I can.” 

“Oh, I’m not pining for any job!” Dick moved 
toward the door. “If this is all I’m going to get 
to eat I guess I’ll save my strength. It wouldn’t do to 
exert myself unnecessarily. I might give out before 
night. Ta, ta! Hope you’ll pull through, Sis, but 
things look dubious.” He went into the yard whis- 
tling and Marjorie slammed the door behind him. 

All the bundles came out of mother’s closet, and the 
contents of the bureau drawers were dumped in one 
grand heap on the sitting room lounge to be sorted. 
It was to be a thorough cleaning. There weren’t to 
be any neglected corners. Sofa pillows were bundled 
away to the clothes yard in armfuls. Bravely Marjorie 
tugged at the great rugs and beat and trampled 
and thrashed them over the lawn. It might be a 
herculean task but she was equal to it. She meant to 
put that lovely little kitten rug right in front of 
mother’s bed, and clean tidies on everything. Nothing 
gave things such a clean look as fresh tidies. There 


A DAY OP SURPRISES 


2 9i 


weren’t any on anything now. Jane had stuck them 
all off somewhere because they weren't stylish. She 
didn't care whether they were stylish or not. She 
meant to fish them all out and put them around — one 
on each arm of father's chair, and one on the organ 
stool, and all the head rests, and the dear little one 
with the pink lamb in it on father's footstool. Mother 
liked them, so did father and so did she. Jane was 
getting altogether too fastidious. When style inter- 
fered with one's having tidies if one wanted them 
and said whether one should have pink crepe paper on 
the mantel it was going too far, and time sensible 
people ignored it utterly. If those horrible pictures 
Jane had in the library were stylish she wasn’t going 
to show any respect for fashion. There wasn’t any- 
thing to them but a lot of. inky daubs that a long ways 
off looked like a girl. They weren't any better than 
the ladies she had drawn with a cork on the fly leaf 
of her geography. Jane said they were posters and 
was very choice of them, and she had taken down 
mother's enlargements of father and Grandmother 
Allen, too, to make a place to hang them up. 

Oh, here were her dear old Sunday school cards, 
all she had ever gotten in the primary. She sat down 
on the floor to look at them. She remembered them 
just as well. That precious little yellow chicken com- 
ing out of a shell she had gotten at Easter, and there 
was the arbutus card, “Rest in the Promise of the 


296 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


Lord,” from Children’s Day. How much prettier 
cards they used to get than they did now, — lovely 
lilies and roses and little girls. Here was one — a 
little girl with a lovely pink sash gathering seashells. 
It said, “He leadeth me beside the still waters.” Here 
was a boy, bringing his mother a lovely bouquet of 
roses, “Honor thy father and thy mother.” She had 
saved every one. It was such fun to look them all 
over. She got up when the clock struck one and 
bundled them all away hurriedly. 

Oh, what was in the sack tucked away off behind 
the closet door ! It felt like eggs but it wasn’t. She 
put her hand in. Oh, it was walnuts! She had for- 
gotten all about there being any. When had she had 
a walnut ! It must have been years. How good they 
looked. — And she was hungry. Anybody would be 
who had worked as hard as she had. She had blacked 
the stoves and cleaned all the rugs and was almost 
through sweeping. It was long past dinner time. - If 
Jane had any decency she would come down and get 
dinner, but she didn’t .have, not a mite. She would 
sit upstairs and mope with a mess of old carpet rags 
that nobody cared the least thing in the world for, if 
everybody starved. 

She went hunting for the hammer, dragging the 
sack behind her. Sitting on the back step with the 
flatiron between her knees, she cracked and cracked. 
It took a long while to fill up on nuts. It was three 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 


29 7 


o’clock when at last she dragged the step ladder 
around and began to wash the front windows. Of 
course the water was cold. There wasn’t any hot, and 
the reservoir was empty. Somebody always scraped 
out the last drop and never filled it. One couldn’t 
make them look like anything with cold water. She 
stepped on mother’s long apron and spilled half the 
water going up. 

She was half way through when she heard the front 
gate click. She looked up and saw a dignified man in 
a black coat trying to fasten the latch. He had his 
back turned and in her haste to get down she upset 
the basin of water and sent the soap sliding along 
the walk. She ran in through the dust-choked hall 
and to the stair landing. 

“Jane! Jane!” she called in a tragical whisper. 
“Some one’s coming. Oh, Jane!” 

Jane came tiptoeing down fearfully, her dress all 
lint from tearing rags, her hands stained with colors 
that had not been fast. 

“Who is it?” she whispered awesomely. 

“I don’t know.” Marjorie craned her neck to see 
out the hall window. “It’s a stranger. He’s coming 
in. Oh, Jane!” He was talking to Dick in the yard. 

“Is this where Miss Marjorie Moxie lives?” Mar- 
jorie’s heart at the keyhole gave a sudden bound. 

“The Courier published some verses of hers last 


298 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


week. I am the editor — ” they heard him clearing 
his throat. “I should like to see the young lady.” 

Marjorie dragged Jane into the sitting room, “I’m 
going to hide, Jane Moxie, I am.” She looked about 
for a suitable place. “You’ve got to be it, do you 
hear? You might as well get your company face on. 
You’ve got to pretend you’re her. Do you hear? Do 
you hear? He shan’t see me. I’ll crawl under the 
bed! I’ll jump in the well! Oh, Jane! Do go!” as 
footsteps sounded on the walk. “Do, Jane! dearest, 
dearest Jane! You’re an angel! You always are! 
You look it! I don’t! I — I’ve been eating onions, 
and I haven’t combed my hair. Look at me, will you, 
that’s all I ask!” as she caught a glimpse of herself 
in the mirror. — “Ain’t I a spectacle. That’s stove 
black — and so is that, and so is that. Would you go 
to the door looking as I do? — Would you? Say! Oh, 
Jane!” as a hand sounded at the knob, “Wont you?” 
The last was a despairing wail, for Jane was making 
her escape. 

Marjorie made a desperate dab at the red-bordered 
towel that wouldn’t come off because she couldn’t find 
the head of the pin. It was arranged in a fantastic 
fashion. The fringe was gathered up in a bobbing 
Indian scalplock at the top of her head. She grabbed 
the big feather duster in one hand and the scrubbing 
brush in the other. 

“Mr. Kimble, allow me to present you to our 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 


m 


authoress, Miss Marjorie Moxie, age thirteen. Mar- 
jorie, this is the editor of the Courier come to call.” 
Then Dick made an ignominious retreat. Marjorie 
could hear him sniggering tantalizingly around the 
corner. 

“Take a chair!’' Marjorie spoke from force of 
habit though she looked about wildly, for there weren’t 
any to take. They were all stacked in the hall, an 
unsightly pile. She tried to disentangle one and suc- 
ceeded in spilling a package of carpet tacks. “Is there 
anything I can do for you ?” she asked stiffly, summon- 
ing dignity as a last support. “Things are a little 
upset. We’ve been cleaning house.” 

Yes, they were. There were mother’s everyday 
shoes right in front of him, and — and a stocking, trail- 
ing — yards long. Mother’s workbasket had toppled 
over and the bundles were rolling everywhere. The 
talcum powder was on the window sill, and the dust 
rag draped over Father Moxie’s rocker. After all it 
didn’t matter how she looked; there were so many 
other terrible things, he couldn’t pay any attention 
to just one. 

“You sent us some verses last week, Miss Moxie, 
that is, unless I am mistaken in the identity/’ He 
looked quizzically over his glasses. Did he mean to 
intimate that she didn’t look like an authoress? The 
red fringe tossed defiantly. She gave him a withering 
glance. 


3°o 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“And we were very much pleased with them/' he 
hastened to explain. “I just dropped in to see if I 
couldn’t induce you to write some more.” 

“Oh!” Marjorie weakened. 

“They seemed especially fine for one so young. We 
felt interested. We are always anxious to assist home 
talent,” etc., etc. 

“There, now, Dick Moxie! Whose turn is it to 
laugh now, say!” Marjorie caught him by the collar 
and held him. “You heard what he said, or you’d 
ought to; you lay right there with your ear to the 
crack every minute. He said my verses were lovely. 
He wanted me to contribute something more. You 
see the tables are turned! You thought it such a 
joke sending my silly verses to a paper. He said 
they were especially fine and that I had marked ability. 
That means ability that’s going to make its mark. 
See if it don’t too, Mr. Know-so-Much ! He said he 
would consider it an honor. He appreciates me, you 
see, if you don’t. Jane! Where is Jane! Oh, Jane!” 

Her head came poking slyly out of the shed door. 
“Is he gone?” she questioned cautiously. “What did 
he want?” 

Marjorie swelled with importance. 

“He wanted to congratulate me , good sister Jane. 
He never asked anything at all about you. In fact, I 
don’t suppose he knows there is such a person on 


A DAY OF SURPRISES 


301 


earth. Too bad, isn’t it? Think what he is missing. 
You refused to impersonate me. The time will come, 
wonderful Jane, when you will be glad to get into 
my shoes for even a brief and privileged moment. 
You will fall all over yourself getting there;, but I 
shall remember how in this hour of my need you 
thrust it behind you with scorn and hid in the wood- 
shed; and when I am enjoying the honor do- not 
humiliate yourself by asking for even a small slice. 
Oh, never fear that a little stove blacking and 
mother’s gingham bib concealed my real identity! 
Glittering genius such as mine shines through a great 
many disadvantages where an ordinary personality 
would be entirely obliterated.” Marjorie swung off 
the big words grandly. 

“Mr. 'Kimble said the Courier felt honored to -print 
those verses that you and Dick ridiculed. Oh, you did, 
you don’t need to deny it ! — But you see how little you 
are fit to judge of real worth. That is always the 
way. Truly great people are always persecuted, and 
it is only after a great deal of trouble that people come 
to appreciate them, sometimes not till they are dead. 
I’m sure I never should have been if the whole world 
had been like you. But you see that clock, Jane 
Moxie? Mother’ll be here before we’ve turned around. 
You’ve just got to pitch right in and help me 
straighten up. She’s coming this minute ! Oh, Jane !” 
Marjorie looked out of the window helplessly. “Some 
20 


3°2 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


one is with her. Oh, who is it? It can’t be Uncle 
Alfred. It is! It’s Uncle Alfred Allen as sure as 
you’re a foot high.” 

Marjorie was out of the house and down the walk 
in a flash, the gingham apron strings flying wildly 
behind her. 

“Yes, it’s Uncle Alfred. Who else would it be!” 
He hugged her up and kissed off half the smutches. 

“And I’ve come to get you this time, haven’t I, 
Mamma Moxie? — Going to carry you away to the 
city; now, how do you like that?” 

“Me?” Marjorie questioned incredulously. It was 
too big a thought to grasp all at once. It would take 
“night” and “above.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


FREDERICK ABIJAH MOSES, AND A HANDFUL OF LADY’S 
SLIPPERS 

“It was its being different that made one want it.” 

“Now try not to be a trial to your Uncle Alfred!” 
Mother Moxie put an extra pin in Marjorie's belt. 

“Remember you’re going to a large city!” Jane 
cautioned. “You don’t want to be headstrong.” 

“You’d better put a string on her, Uncle Alfred!” 
Dick advised. “You’ll never be able to keep track 
of her, she’s such a wiggle-twist.” 

“Oh, we’ll keep together all right, like two magnets. 
Hey, Marjorie?” He patted her shoulder reassur- 
ingly. “Now let’s see! Does this go?” He picked 
up a bulging telescope. “ — And this, I suppose, is a 
bandbox and contains a wonderful flowery creation 
that we are going to wear to the theatre? All right! 
Now we’re ready, aren’t we?” 

“Be sure and wear your ginghams and percales 
on the street, dear! Save your white duck suit for 
Sunday, and your little blue dimity you may wear 
special places,” Mother Moxie specified. “Your 
slippers are in there with your best dress and hat, 
and here are your handkerchiefs. I’ll put them in 


303 


304 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


your handbag, a dozen of them. Do you think that 
will be enough? Try not to lose them all, won’t you? 
Some of them are sister’s, but you need so many. 
And oh, daughter, your comb and brush! I thought 
I sent you to put them in. You laid them on the 
organ? Now, we’ll have to open the telescope again. 
I wonder what time it is?” 

“Don’t get nervous !” Uncle Alfred comforted. 
“There’s plenty of time.” He got down on his knees 
to undo the straps. “Now, is that all? What’s in 
the rocker?” 

“Oh, it’s my belt ! That goes in. — And there’s my 
box of stationery. — My diary too. — I musn’t forget 
that. I shall probably have experiences. Oh, mother ! 
did you get my perfumery? I want it.” She tore 
away up the stairs. 

“If she gets homesick,” Mother Moxie whispered, 
“send her back! She’s never been away a single 
night before; I’d hate to think she’d be homesick.” 
There was a suspicious moisture in her pale blue 
eyes. 

“No doubt she will be very homesick.” It was 
Jane’s opinion. 

“She’ll be squally before night, mark my words!” 
Dick was sure of it. 

“I shan’t either.” Marjorie came down in time to 
defend herself. “I guess I’m no worse than you are, 
Dick Moxie. I mean to stay till the last minute, see if 


FREDERICK ABIJ AH MOSES 


305 


I don’t ! Don’t think I’m so anxious for your society. 
It’ll be you that’ll pine away for some one to torment, 
if any one does. Oh, Dick !” as a storm of reflections 
swooped upon her. “You’ll feed the Appetite, won’t 
you? Whole panfuls! She’ll miss me. Nothing will 
make her forget it except being so full she can’t think. 
— And Catastrophe and all the kittens. Be sure and 
see that Consolation gets a good deal. And oh, Dick !” 
She drew him to one side tragically. Mother was 
whispering to Uncle Alfred and Jane was wrapping 
red tissue paper around their lunch box. 

Marjorie got hold of Dick’s collar and drew his 
head down. “ — There’s a cat — an old lean ornery 
cat. She isn’t ours, she isn’t anybody’s. I think she 
has kittens under Barnby’s shed. She prowls around 
their lot and sometimes she comes over the fence. 
You’ll find a pie tin right in the corner under the 
alder bush where I feed her. When I’d be going out 
with a plateful for Catastrophe, she’d meow so pitiful 
I couldn’t help it. She has the awfullest eyes — as big 
as — as saucers. They’d haunt me if I didn’t. — And 
food is simply nothing to her. — It doesn’t last. You’ll 
feed her, won’t you, Dicky, dear, all you can spare? 
And — please don’t mention it any more than is 
absolutely necessary, you understand?” She squeezed 
his hand. “Oh, I suppose I ought to stay at home and 
tend to things!” Her face was grave with anxiety. 

“And Jane, you’ll put out some crumbs for the 


3 ° 6 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


teenty, weenty mother wren whose mate Catastrophe 
caught, gluttonous creature! I gave her a severe 
talking to and took her up to see the three dear little 
eggs, but I don’t suppose it did the least good in the 
world. There are some people it never pays to reason 
with. If we neglect the wren now there never will 
be any precious little birdies, for how can she go for 
breakfast and sit at the same time, I’d like to know! 
It’s a physical impossibility. I suppose the Mugg 
twins will miss me terribly. I’ve been taking them 
out regularly every single afternoon. It’s good for 
their ringworms. — And the Mintey baby is teething. 
I don’t know which is the worst, to be ringwormy or 
teething. Teething is terrible. One just has to drool. 
I wonder what makes a teething baby drool ! If I had 
a baby I shouldn’t want it to drool. I believe I would 
rather it would be toothless. Anyhow, teeth are a 
great deal of bother and if one hasn’t them why they 
won’t have to be pulled and will never ache. And 
Jane, if Belinda Barks comes around you can let her 
take my box of patterns. I said she shouldn’t but 
she may. Oh, mother! there’s a lot of responsibility 
in going anywhere, isn’t there? — There’s so many 
things to be left behind — and — Oh! Oh!” She was 
hugging her mother good-bye. “You — you — you’ll 
write to me, won’t you?” 

“Yes, mother will write and Marjorie must write 
too.” There were tears in everybody’s eyes, even 


FREDERICK ABIJ AH MOSES 30 7 

Jane’s. Marjorie kissed them all around, then she 
went back and kissed Mother Moxie again. 

“I — I feel as though something was going to — to 
happen.” The words struggled around an aching 
lump. And then it did. She burst into tears and had 
to be taken into the kitchen and comforted. 

“It — it isn’t that I don’t want to go. I do,” she 
sobbed. “It’s you, and Dick, and Jane — I — I love you 
so.” She was hugging them all again. “ — And — 
and mother, when I’m gone you won’t remember all 
the horrible t — things I’ve done, will you? — They’re 
so many and — and I didn’t mean them. I — I couldn’t 
bear to go away, not for a minute, if it were — really 
— true; but I’m going to bring you a lovely china 
pitcher, and father a necktie, and Jane a dear little 
workbox, and Dick a ball. I can bear it. — I’m going 
to.” She drew herself up. “After all, a week isn’t 
but just a little while, is it? — and we’ll have such fun 
talking it all over.” She tried to smile bravely as she 
locked her arm in Uncle Alfred’s. “Anyhow, next to 
you and father and Dick and Jane I love Uncle Alfred 
best,” she confessed, as she rubbed her wet cheek 
against his sleeve. They were going down the front 
walk. Mother picked a lovely pink and pinned it to 
her dress. 

“Now be happy, dear, and have a good time,” she 
said at the gate. 


3°8 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Be sure and go to the Zoo and see all the animals, 
the lions and seals and everything.” 

“I’d go up in the Masonic Temple if I were you,” 
Jane suggested. 

“Now, good-bye, good-bye!” Dick waved a big 
red bandana and mother a hand. Marjorie showed a 
contorted face in a vain effort to smile back at them. 
She squeezed Uncle Alfred’s arm desperately. She 
was leaving them behind. Oh, there ! Jane was hid. 
She could just see a part of mother’s head. There! 
they were out of sight. She slipped a helpless little 
hand down Uncle Alfred’s sleeve till it found his big 
warm hand and felt comforted. Neither spoke until 
they were nearly to the station. Uncle Alfred had 
struggled over lumps in the days of his youth and 
was thinking about them. He helped his little niece 
up the station steps and arranged all the bundles 
before he went to buy the tickets. 

It was to be a long, long journey. They would 
not even be there by dinner time. Never in her life 
had Marjorie gone farther than Selville on the train 
and then only once to the circus. Her heart beat 
tumultuously as she heard the train whistle. Only a 
minute now and it would come spinning in, puffing 
and yellow, blowing its white breath out from under. 
Everybody hurried excitedly out to the platform jos- 
tling bundles and umbrellas. One old lady dropped a 
shoebox of lunch and green cucumber pickles flew in 


FREDERICK ABIJ AH MOSES 


309 


every direction. Marjorie wanted to stop and help 
gather them up, but Uncle Alfred hurried her along. 
— Up the platform — Oh there! she was stepping on 
somebody. They were aboard at last. It was a beauti- 
ful car, all lovely agate green windows and rich red 
woodwork trimmed with gold. The seats were red 
plush. It was just as nice as the one Jane had gone 
to the state fair in and she had talked about it for a 
week. There were cunning little looking-glasses 
between each seat where you could see if your hat was 
on straight if you wanted to, and a big fine one at 
the end of the car. It was amusing to look in that 
and wonder which was you, and see how much more 
interesting one looked when there were a lot of others. 
Her dress was pretty anyhow, — such a cheerful red, 
and made suspender, with the dearest little red pearl 
buttons, and the ribbon on her sailor just matched 
to a dot. 

Ever so many people were going somewhere. The 
little girl two seats ahead was going to the country. 
She was telling another girl about it, and she seemed 
just as pleased as she, Marjorie, who was going to 
the city. It didn't matter at all where she was going. 
It was its being different that made one want it. The 
little girl had never seen a cow or a sheep. Think of 
that ! She was going to have real eggs that hens laid 
and her grandmama would let her gather them. 
Once they had bought a hen for Thanksgiving and 


3io 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


they had kept it shut in a box for a week hoping she 
would lay but she didn't. It would be such a treat 
to have a real hen-laid egg. Her grandmama had 
potatoes and cabbages and apples growing out of 
doors. Once she and her little sister had planted an 
apple which had cost five cents ; but it never grew any 
more, though they dug it up every morning to see; 
finally they dug it up and ate it, because if they hadn't, 
you know, some one else would. She had never picked 
a strawberry in her life or seen any popcorn growing. 
She hadn't any idea what it looked like before it was 
all white and fluffy and in sacks. She didn't even 
know what a cob was. 

Marjorie's attention radiated between the little girl 
and a large family across the aisle that had a baby. 
The mother was trying her best to keep it still. She 
hadn't had half time to do her hair, Marjorie felt sure 
of that. It was on one side, and the hairpins were 
in every way. There was a great ugly part in the 
back where there oughtn't to be. The baby kept 
pulling it and making it look worse every minute. He 
liked to kick pretty well but he loved to pull hair better. 
He took great handfuls and just pulled till he was 
red in the face. 

The father sat across from them holding a wrig- 
gling small boy, using all his attention to keep him 
from picking the brass buttons off his first pants. 
They must be his first pants for they hadn't scarcely 


FREDERICK ABIJ AH MOSES 


3*1 

any legs at all, and if they'd been much smaller there 
couldn't have been anything of them but the band. 
And he had just lost his curls. There were ugly 
gouges across his head where the shears had nipped 
them off. Probably he had wiggled so nobody could 
cut it, and they had had to snatch a curl here and there 
whenever they had a chance. A little boy, probably 
six years old, sat beside them and a great many things 
ailed him. The band of his new hat “picked" and 
he didn't like to wear his collar. His shoes hurt his 
feet. He whined and fretted and sometimes he 
pinched his little brother for spite. 

Across from him, beside her mother, sat a little girl 
four years old daubing candy all over herself. She 
had her face covered and now she had begun on her 
dress. In a minute more she would have her eyes 
stuck together and then she couldn't see to get into 
any more mischief. It must be a great trial to travel 
with such a family. They weren't still a minute. 
When one stopped crying another was ready to com- 
mence. There were enough of them to keep up a 
continual performance. When they weren't crying 
they were teasing their mother for cookies. There 
was a big market basket full of lunch under the seat, 
but even then it didn't seem as though it could last 
long. Perhaps they weren't going far. It surely 
seemed as though they hadn't had cookies at home 
or they wouldn't have had such an appetite for them. 


312 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


Perhaps the woman had just baked up a whole crock 
of them “special purpose.” It couldn’t be they ate 
that way all the time or they would have had indiges- 
tion. Perhaps they had and that was what made 
them cry. 

There now ! the baby had torn the woman’s waist. 
He was clawing the lace all off her collar. Oh, what 
a poor abused woman! Marjorie clapped her hands 
to attract the baby’s attention. It was a shame to let 
him dig in that way. Why didn’t somebody stop him. 
Why didn’t the father! Marjorie pinched Uncle 
Alfred’s arm. 

“I think I ought to do what I can,” she whispered. 
“If the whole four have torn at her like that, think 
how near she must be to going to pieces ! Oh, now 
he has her by the throat ! He’s choking her to death. 
See ! She’s red in the face already. Uncle Alfred, do 
you think between us we could — could manage him? 
She really ought to have a breathing spell, don’t you 
think so? Think of having a baby digging you like 
that for six years! That’s what it means. — One 
beginning right where the other left off. If — If I 
had some peppermints I believe I could manage it.” 
They watched for the newsboy to bring around his 
basket. 

“Peppermints are what they usually get, aren’t 
they?” Marjorie inquired anxiously. “They haven’t 
catnip drops, have they?” The baby, despairing of 


FREDERICK ABIJ AH MOSES 


3 13 


ever finishing its mother by strangulation, had begun 
upon her nose. This he seemed to consider a serious 
blemish, and bent all his energies toward removing it 
at once. 

“I don't believe in whipping children," Marjorie 
whispered to Uncle Alfred, “ — but there are cases 
when I believe I should try a mild spatting, wouldn't 
you? — Just a little, say on the hands or — or ears. 
Even babies ought to be human. Oh, look now, Uncle 
Alfred! He's eating her up! — Great mouthfuls all 
over her cheek! Do you suppose that he has teeth? 
I should imagine when he grew up he would be a — 
a cannibal." She touched the woman's arm timidly. 

“I wouldn't mind trying him. He seems very — 
very active. You must be tired." 

“Oh, no!" The little woman sighed with all the 
patience in the world. “I'm used to it." Indeed she 
looked it. “I'm afraid he wouldn't be good with you." 
She looked wistfully at Marjorie's childish figure. 

“He might. Please let me try!" Marjorie grew 
more sympathetic every moment. “There are the 
Mugg babies, I handle them most every day. They're 
active too, only I don't believe they are quite so much 
so. Is he teething?" 

“Yes, he has two." The mother pinched the tiny 
lips apart and displayed two shining pearls proudly. 
“Mother's little tootsy-wootsy dumpling! Did he 


314 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


show his little teenty toofies to the lady?” She 
squeezed him up tenderly. 

“He’s a pretty baby,” Marjorie said haltingly. 
“What is his name?” 

“Frederick Abijah Moses. We named him after 
his two grandfathers. Does little Freddie want to 
go?” she cooed coaxingly. “He’s a little man. 
There!” She relinquished him with a sigh of relief. 
Marjorie bore him away with an air of grave 
responsibility. He squirmed and wiggled so he 
reminded her of the one kitten she couldn’t hold. He 
wasn’t the cuddley sort at all. It was much easier to 
hold a cuddley baby as well as a cuddley kitten. Mar- 
jorie tried to snuggle him up to her in a dear, motherly 
fashion, but it wasn’t any use at all. He struggled 
himself free and reached up both his hands to get 
her crimson hat streamers. He got them too, and 
straightway put them into his little wet open mouth, 
dabbling them about in Marjorie’s neck, then swallow- 
ing them again. He danced up and down in his dear 
little blue kid shoes till Marjorie’s arms ached with 
boosting him; still he insisted that she keep on and 
on. She must boost him up clear of the landing and 
she must say “boo” every time he came down. Noth- 
ing else would satisfy him. Across the aisle his 
mother smiled at him indulgently. “Goo-goo! Goo- 
goo!” she said, tossing her head mechanically after 
the habit of years. 


FREDERICK ABIJ AH MOSES 


315 


“See here, baby!” Marjorie tried to find the joints 
in his little body. “Pretty pictures! Baby want to 
see the pretty pictures in Uncle Alfred’s paper? Oh, 
there’s a horsie! Baby want to see a horsie?” 

“Goo, goo! Goo, goo!” Little Freddie plunged 
into it enthusiastically. 

“ — Funny red horsie with blue feet,” Marjorie 
went on. “ — And a dear little go-wagon to take baby 
for a ride. Baby want to go for a ride in the dear 
little go-wagon? Oh, see here!” as baby failed to 
show any interest in horses and wagons, but seemed 
intent on getting as much of the gay-colored page in 
his mouth as possible. 

“Here’s a little doggie-woggie and a boy. Isn’t he 
a dear little fellow in his Buster Brown suit? Will 
Freddie grow up to be a cute little fellow like that and 
wear pants? Freddie mustn’t eat the paper. No, no! 
It’s a horrid, nasty paper, and will make Freddie sick. 
See! Here’s a Foxy Grandpa. Let’s see what those 
horrid boys are doing this time. No, no! Freddie 
mustn’t pull off the pretty buttons ! Did he think they 
were candy? Does Freddie want some candy?” She 
produced a lovely pink peppermint. “There ! That’s 
prettier than buttons. Baby can eat it all he wants 
to. Now Freddie’ll be a good boy, won’t he?” 

But if being quiet and eating it were any signs of 
being good Freddie had no intentions of anything so 
docile. He put the pink morsel into his mouth only to 


316 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


take it out and dabble it in the. dust along the car seat, 
then pat little pink daubs all over the window pane; 
at last, with nothing left of it but a sticky hand, he 
caressed Marjorie’s cheek tenderly. In vain she tried 
to hold him quiet long enough to wipe away the stains. 
He kicked and fought desperately. 

“Baby must hold still and let Marjorie clean him 
up. See ! he’s getting it all over his clean dress.” But 
baby had no respect for clean dresses and protested 
with all his small might. He battled the air, 
Marjorie, anything that came in his way, with fists 
of defiance. At last he stiffened his little body and 
screamed at the top of his voice. Marjorie looked 
over at his mother anxiously ; but that weary lady had 
availed herself of a much-needed opportunity and lain 
down, with the baby’s little blue coat for a pillow, and 
gone to sleep. The father slept too, and so did the 
little boy who had grown tired of trying to pick off 
his brass buttons. Two seats away the other two 
children were fighting over the remainder of the 
cookies. They seemed to be too accustomed to the 
sound of screaming babies to even look around. 

“There! there!” Marjorie patted him on the back. 
“Don’t cry! Marjorie won’t wash him any more. 
Didn’t baby want to be clean? Want to be a dirty 
little baby? Well, he shall. He’s a dear little tootsy- 
wootsy. There! Don’t cry! Want another candy?” 
She took another from the sack. “ — Another. nice 


FREDERICK ABIJ AH MOSES 


3i7 

little sweety-weety candy for baby Freddie ?” But an 
angry baby hand threw it into the aisle. 

“Oh, look out the window at the bossies! See the 
pretty trees and the little stream ! — And there’s some 
funny white ducks. Oh, baby ! See there !” She 
tapped repeatedly on the window pane; but the baby 
limbs grew more rigid, and the screams increased. 
Marjorie looked helplessly at Uncle Alfred, but he 
too was asleep behind his paper. In vain she emptied 
the contents of her hand bag — a little red leather 
purse, a tiny mirror, an acorn stamp box. She offered 
them all to the baby, only to be despised. Repeatedly 
she boosted him up and said “boo” when he came 
down. She snuggled him up and rocked to and fro 
soothingly, singing a little ditty that had pleased the 
Mugg babies ; but he refused to be comforted. 

“Baby want a drink?” 

The train was slowing for a station. In desperation 
Marjorie carried him to the end of the car. The cool- 
ing draught had some effect, but he began again as 
soon as he could get his breath. Marjorie held him to 
the window to look out. It was only a great red tank 
with dripping sides, and a white fence, and beyond, a 
lovely woods and a green field and a little dot of a 
house at the farthest end. Marjorie danced little 
Freddie up and down before the view entreatingly. 

“Oh! see the pretty flowers!” she begged. There 

they were just across the tracks, pink lady’s slippers, 
21 


3i8 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


dozens of them. “Freddie want a flower? Right 
down there, baby! Oh, did you ever see such lovely 
pink beauties, all blossomed out for baby Freddie? 
Does baby want to go by-by and pick pretty flowers ?” 
The word “by-by” acted like magic. The sobs 
ceased. The little hands reached up entreatingly. 

“See the pretty white clouds! Hear the old big 
choo-choo car blowing its nose !” In vain she tried to 
divert his attention. “Oh, baby! there’s a birdie, lit 
right in that little bush ! Baby see the birdie ?” But 
baby Freddie resisted manfully. He battered the pane 
in a heroic effort to get out. His face that had cleared 
began to cloud again. The thick little upper lip lifted 
in a fresh grievance. Marjorie jigged him up and 
down despairingly. He was going to cry. He was 
puckering up to get ready. Then ! the noise was com- 
ing and he had had a good rest and could cry louder. 

“Don’t, don’t!” Marjorie begged entreatingly. 
“You mustn’t cry so, you’ll scare everybody to death. 
Do you want them to think you’re a perfect monster ? 
You just mustn’t make such a noise. I shan’t allow 
it.” She put her hand over the baby’s mouth ; but the 
noise burst out in spasmodic jets that threatened 
strangulation. 

“Marjorie’d be glad to get Freddie a flower, only 
the bad, naughty old train wouldn’t let us off. I don’t 
see why it don’t start along, anyhow. It don’t need to 
stand all day, does it, just to take on a little water? 


FREDERICK ABU AH MOSES 


3i9 


Goodness knows I’d take you out if I could! I’m sure 
the folks would be glad enough to see us going.” By 
this time the small monarch had screamed himself 
black in the face. Marjorie, driven to desperation, 
carried him to the car door. A fat, agreeable man, was 
standing there smoking a cigar. He poked a pudgy 
finger into Freddie’s ribs and chucked him under the 
chin, but it didn’t do the least good in the world. 

“How long is this train going to stop?” Marjorie 
questioned miserably. 

“Oh, a good while. Probably fifteen minutes,” the 
man told her as he moved along toward the smoking 
car. Two boys came out and hopped off confidently. 
The flowers were just a little ways. She looked over 
at them wistfully. It wouldn’t take her but a jiffy. 
If it would only keep Freddie quiet. My! how he 
could scream ! Fifteen minutes was a long time. She 
could go ever so far in fifteen minutes. She clam- 
bered quickly down with an apprehensive look behind. 
A fresh burst of white steam came from under the 
engine, but it gave her no special alarm. The flowers 
were just over the white fence and on a little slope. 
In a moment she was there. Freddie once outside 
hushed his crying and began to coo his satisfaction. 

The flowers were beautiful, a lovely pink, blotched 
with red. She picked one and put it in the chubby 
little hand, then another and another. She was just 
stooping for the fourth when the monster behind her 


320 MARJORIE MOXIE 

gave a lunge. There was a puff, a grating of wheels, 
then a succession of puffs gradually increasing in 
volume as the train gained speed. Oh, it was 
moving! Marjorie turned a horrified face to behold 
it. For a moment she stood stupefied, then it sud- 
denly dawned on her. They were being left, they 
were. With all her might she cried to them to stop. 
She snatched off her hat and waved the crimson 
streamers frantically. They were not going to back 
up. They were not going to turn around. Relent- 
lessly the great black wheels chugged on and on. One, 
two, three, four, the coaches passed, then the little 
fluttering flag behind. The great yellow monster 
nosed its way around the bend and out of sight. 
Marjorie sank down helplessly among the lady’s 
slippers and gathered Freddie into her arms. 


CHAPTER XX 


AUNT MANDY, UNCLE EBENEZER, AND THE GOLDEN 
CALF. 

“It don’t seem as though God would have made more things 
than could live on the earth, does it?” 

Save for a pair of bobolinks that had a nest in the 
lady’s slippers, they were quite alone. No one had 
been to the red tank to watch the heaving monster 
come or go. There was nothing to show that it had 
been save a few smoking cinders from the fire box, 
and a wet track where the thirsty engine had taken on 
water. With little Freddie hugged up as if to protect 
him from impending evil Marjorie paced to and fro 
along the track where a moment ago the waiting 
coaches had stood with their hundreds of crowded 
windows beaming encouragingly. Now there was 
nothing facing her but emptiness and desolation. It 
was hard to realize that the train had really gone. It 
seemed, if she closed her eyes, she must open them to 
see it standing just as it was, waiting to take her and 
Freddie on. But no. Away around the bend it was 
whistling now and the chug-chug of the laboring 
engine grew fainter every moment. It was gone. 
Uncle Alfred was gone. The baby’s mother was 
gone. They were left. Oh, what could she do! 


322 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


A wave of terror and her own helplessness almost 
swept her brave spirit down. What would the woman 
do when she awoke and found she hadn’t any baby? 
What would Uncle Alfred do? No one had seen them 
get off save the fat man and perhaps he never would 
tell. He probably was asleep before now the same as 
everybody else, and they would go on, and on, and on. 
Perhaps no one would ever know what had become of 
them. She ran terrified along the track, crying out 
in little frightened gasps. Her eyes followed the two 
shining rails away, it seemed, into eternity. Then, 
because she was weak and trembling, she sat down on 
a disused tie and rocked to and fro miserably. 

Little Freddie fretted and kicked mighty kicks with 
his little blue shoes and sucked a pink fist in despera- 
tion. They didn’t even have anything to eat. The 
lovely box of lunch that Jane had taken such pains 
to wrap with red tissue paper was in the wire parcel 
rack over Uncle Alfred’s head, and the woman’s 
basket of cookies, if there was one of them left, was 
getting farther away every minute. It didn’t matter 
about her. She wouldn’t starve. She could eat roots, 
or — or grass if she had to ; but how could a baby, with 
only two teeth and they only just beginning? She 
put an investigating finger into the little pink mouth 
to test their substantiality, and the baby tongue closed 
around it greedily. 

“Oh, you poor little thing!” Marjorie rocked 


THE GOLDEN CALF 


3A3 


faster. “You're starving already. You’d eat me up 
if you could. You’re trying it. Oh, don’t you know 
baby, you can’t digest my finger? You can't. I wish 
you could; but it’s impossible. It’s too hard. You 
can’t eat anything but your mother as I know of, and 
she’s gone. Yes, she is. There isn’t any use crying 
over spilled milk. I guess you wish you’d been a little 
more carefuller of her now. After all it serves you 
right, you know it does. When a person has a good 
thing and don’t appreciate it, it is usually taken away 
from them. We can’t go on abusing our privileges. 
We aren’t allowed to. I guess you’ll think your 
mother was a privilege before you’re done with it, and 
you abused her, you know you did. If you ever live 
to grow up, which I don’t think you will,” she added 
disparagingly, “I hope you’ll remember this. You 
have a great many things to account for already. If 
it hadn’t been for you we would be tooting along on 
that train this minute, with not a thing in the world 
the matter with us, while here we are now in a 
beautiful plight, aren’t we — a thousand miles from 
nowhere and no way to get out, and not a thing in 
the world to eat. Supposing a great big bear would 
pounce out of those woods right now! I’d let him 
have you first ; I ought to. You’ve caused a good deal 
of trouble and you’ll probably go on causing more. 
You were bound to have a flower. I gave up to you. 
Your mother’s always done it and I thought I had 


3 2 4 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


to; but I’ve learned a lesson. If I ever have any 
children of my own I shall be firm and stick to my 
convictions. They will get consoled with something 
besides cookies occasionally, I’m thinking — something 
that will be better for both their tempers and diges- 
tions. 

‘‘Don't you dare to cry another word! Do you 
hear, sir, Frederick Abijah Moses? Don’t you dare!” 
as the tiny face puckered around the disappointing 
finger. “You’ve been nuisance enough for one day, 
and you just hush up now and behave yourself. If 
you don’t I believe I shall experiment on you, I really 
do. Of course you’re hungry and there’s a great many 
things ailing you; but you might as well learn to 
endure misfortune first as last. Now, there comes a 
man, and if you don’t hush I’ll give you to him. He’ll 
probably be able to tend to your case without the least 
trouble. Look there! He’s got a big knife. Now 
will you hush? You’d better,” as the wailing grew 
less. One of the section hands, with a scythe over his 
shoulder, was swinging along the track on his way in 
to dinner. Marjorie accosted him anxiously. 

“When does the next train go north?” Of course 
there would be another train; but Uncle Alfred 
wouldn’t be on it, nor her ticket, nor the baby’s 
mother. What good it would do her she didn’t know, 
still she asked. 


THE GOLDEN CALF 


325 

“The flyer goes up about four-forty-five.” The man 
squinted one eye curiously. .“Going out?” 

“Yes, that is, I guess I will. Oh, say, Mister !” He 
was moving on. She hurried to overtake him. “Isn’t 
there some one around here who sells milk? I’d like 
to get a pint if you please.” She still carried her hand 
bag. 

“The dairy business you mean? I don’t know’s 
ther’ is. There’s dairyin’ done over at Mayerses Cen- 
ter, three miles away.” The children weren’t any 
of his kinsfolk. He searched them for familiarities. 
They weren’t Days nor Chesterfields nor Kinneys. He 
wasn’t interested. 

“Well, isn’t there a cow, then?” Marjorie was per- 
sistent. “If you could tell me where I could get a cow. 
This is country, isn’t it ? There ought to be a cow in 
the country. I don’t know as I could get the milk out 
of her, but I could try. This child is starving,” she 
said tragically, thrusting the wailing Freddie into 
prominence. “He’s lost his mother and he hasn’t but 
two teeth.” She pinched the little mouth to prove her 
statement. “So, of course, you see something must be 
done.” 

“Oh, if you want a little milk for the kid you just 
go to that house over yonder and Aunt Mandy’ll fix 
you up.” He pointed a grimy thumb at the dot of a 
farmhouse away across the fields. “Jest cut across 


326 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


the medder and int’ the cornfield. ’Tain’t more’n a 
mile.” 

Marjorie heaved a sigh of relief. The prospect of 
carrying Freddie a mile wasn’t any laughing mat- 
ter; but it was better than sitting helplessly by and 
watching the increasing symptoms of starvation in 
an infant victim, and four-forty-five was a long way 
in the foreground. There was no telling what might 
happen by then. Babies were almost always eating or 
else crying to. If he didn’t die of starvation he would 
probably burst something. Why, if it hadn’t been for 
his arms, he would have swallowed both his hands 
already. He had swallowed them several times, but 
because they were fast at one end he could unswallow 
them. And he was glad that he could, because he 
needed them to strike with. There! One was clear 
out of sight now, wrist and all. Marjorie drew it 
back fearfully. 

“Baby, baby!” she begged. “You mustn’t do it, 
you mustn’t really. It would be foolish to eat your- 
self up and besides give you a terrible feeling. Think 
what it would mean to go through life maimed — a 
poor little stump of an arm for instance, as monument 
to your terrible gluttony. I think if I had such an 
ungovernable appetite as that I would try to control 
it. Shall we go way over and find a bossy cow and 
get a dear good woman to give us a cup of milk? 
Will you promise to be a good baby and not kick? 


THE. GOLDEN CALF 


327 


If you kick I can’t carry you. You don’t look a mite 
bigger than Josephine Murl; but you’re certainly lots 
heavier. That’s because you’re not hollow. You may 
feel as if you were, but you’re not. You’re the big- 
gest baby I ever lifted for your size. It seems as 
though you must be full of something besides just 
baby. I guess it’s temper. If there was such a thing 
as temper’s weighing I’d say you weighed a ton. Do 
you realize if you keep on like this till you’re a man 
you’ll be simply terrible? There won’t a soul in the 
world even live in the same house with you, to say 
nothing of loving you. If you kick me once more, 
Frederick Moses, I shall walk right off and leave you 
in the fence corner. A body might as well try to 
carry a menagerie.” 

Over the meadow and across a little meadow stream, 
under a lichened rail fence where sleepy sheep drowsed 
in the shady corners, on into the cornfield. Marjorie 
stumbled to a friendly rock and sank down helplessly. 
She was out of breath. Her hair was flying. The 
baby’s bonnet had slid down miserably over its eyes. 
She straightened it desperately. 

( Tm sure I don’t know what I’m going to do with 
you. You’ve gnawed at my finger till it’s sore. You 
shan’t gnaw it another minute, not if you starve, so 
there! Here! Marjorie will fix something for the 
baby; course she will. Shall Marjorie fix the baby a 
sweet little sugar-tootsy out of her own little clean 


3 2 8 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


kerchie ? There, there ! Don’t cry ! Little Dewey and 
Hobson Mugg dearly love them. Mrs. Mugg fixes one 
every day. I’d forgot all about it. There! there! 
You’ll soon have something you can’t swallow. If 
you get all that in your mouth I guess you’ll keep still 
for a minute.” 

She wadded a clean handkerchief and tied it into a 
knot. It certainly did go a long ways toward filling 
the baby’s mouth. “You can kick now, but you can’t 
holler, thank goodness. Maybe I’ll be able to stand 
one without the other.” She started on her way again 
persistently. 

Groping blindly through green rows of corn that 
waved feathery tassels high over her head, then on 
through a field of sweet pink clover, into an orchard, 
the smell of whose ripening fruit tormented her hun- 
ger, Marjorie came upon the farmhouse, quaint and 
weather-beaten, in the shelter of the trees. A path, 
beaten black and bordered with zinnias and marigolds, 
led up to the little south porch, that at once looked 
homelike and inviting, with its morning-glories twined 
up to the thatch and its row of bright tin pans sun- 
ning on the bench. A big black cat lay asleep on 
a little cushion by the door. He got up and arched 
his back and purred. 

Marjorie’s timid little knock brought “Aunt 
Mandy,” wiping the soapsuds from her hands on a 
big gingham apron. She had been washing hanks of 


THE GOLDEN CALL 


3 2 9 


wool and a snowy pile of them was heaped up in 
the kitchen sink. Her big homely face was full of 
concern. 

“Do tell she exclaimed over Marjorie’s excited 
story. “Got left off ! What a shame ! And the baby’s 
mother — Oh, the poor innocent little darling! Give 
him here !” Marjorie relinquished him to the motherly 
arms gladly. “Starving, is he, and no wonder ! Why, 
child, what have you got in this little lamb’s mouth ?” 

“Mrs. Mugg makes them. She has twins,” Mar- 
jorie explained. “It don’t seem to me they would be 
very nourishing; but babies seem to like them.” Aunt 
Mandy sat down in the crazy-cushioned rocker and 
laughed till the little kitchen shook. 

“Bless her heart ! She did the best she could,” she 
comforted, patting Marjorie consolingly. “You see 
there’s something to it besides a handkerchief! But 
how could she put in bread and milk and sugar when 
she didn’t have it ! There, there! Nevermind! The 
little pet will be all right in two jerks of a lamb’s tail 
in fly time. He shall have a cup of nice warm milk 
and forget all about it, so he shall.” 

She took off the little crocheted bonnet and 
smoothed the little bald head consolingly. “Wants 
his own muzzer, course he does ; but he’s going to sit 
in Aunt Mandy’s lap and eat bread and milk like a 
little man.” She laid him on an old fashioned settee 
covered with cheery red calico, and bustled into the 


330 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


pantry, jarring the little house with every step of her 
gaitered feet. She had the milk on the stove and it 
was warm in a minute, and Freddie was eating it with 
grunts of appreciation. 

“The man said it would stop fifteen minutes — and 
we weren’t only just out — and it never whistled at 
all — and ever so many people were looking out of the 
windows — and I waved my hat and everything and 
they never even stopped.” Marjqrie poured her griev- 
ances before a sympathetic listener. “ — And all the 
lunch is in the parcel rack — and Uncle Alfred is 
asleep — and so is the baby’s mother — and my ticket 
is on — and whatever the poor woman will do without 
a baby is more than I know. It seems to me after six 
years it would have grown to be a habit. I thought 
the woman needed a breathing spell. I don’t see how 
she can miss one so very much, but of course she will. 
Mothers always do.” Marjorie sighed. 

“Poor little tudkins !” Aunt Mandy swayed to and 
fro and held him to her big motherly bosom. “Does 
he want nice clean coaties and go by-by? Well, he 
shall have some, so he shall. Little tug-o-mutton 
needn’t cry no more. He’s going to get mothered, so 
he is, and Aunt Mandy’ll rock him to sleep and sing 
‘By-low Bumpkins.’ Shall she? 

“By-low Bumpkins, iddle diddle Dumpkins, 

Jogging along with a big load of pumpkins, 

A big fat toad bumped into the load 

And away went the pumpkins a-rolling down the road. 


THE GOLDEN CALF 


33i 


Ho ! Ho ! by-low-low, 

Who got the pumpkins? I don’t know.” 

She jolted him along merrily in time to the rollick- 
ing rhythm. He seemed to enjoy it. He cooed and 
clapped his hands. 

“There, now, he's just as comfy as a tater in the 
cellar, and he's goin' to cuddle down and shut his 
pretty eyes." She smoothed his little fuzzy head and 
rubbed cunning wrinkles in his baby neck where the 
bonnet strings had left them red. 

“Ho ! Ho ! by-low-low 
Teach Mr. Bumpkins to go a little slow, 

Ho ! Ho ! by-low-low 

Who cares a tinker where the old pumpkins go ! 


“Did they most starve the little man, and poke a 
nassy old rag in his mouth? Well, Aunt Mandy 
won't let 'em do it any more. She'll take off the little 
feller's shoes and toast his tootsies, so she will. He 
needn't fuss any more. It's going t' clear up, so it 
is, and be a fair day to-morrow. 

“By-low Bumpkins, iddle diddle Dumpkins.” 

At last the little tense body relaxed in her lap and 
Freddie slept. She carried him over to the red lounge 
and covered him with a little checked red and black 
shawl. 

“ — And we were going to stay a whole week— and 


33 2 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


Uncle Alfred meant to take me to the theatre — and 
my best hat is in a bandbox and my slippers and my 
white pique dress for Sundays — and Dick and Jane 
said I’d be homesick, but I shan’t — I don’t mean to — 
that is, I shouldn’t have been if things had gone off 
as they ought to.” Marjorie choked over her bread 
and honey. “ — Of course it is rather aggravating to 
have things turn out like this, and — and I don’t see 
how I’m going to go without a ticket, do you? — and 
how ever will I get home to — to mother!” 

The last word burst out with a flood of pent up emo- 
tions, and she laid her head on the red cotton table- 
cloth and wept. As long as there had been something 
she could do she had borne up bravely; but now that 
a temporary stopping place had been reached, she 
wilted miserably, and was gathered up by motherly 
Aunt Mandy, who rocked her just as she had rocked 
little Freddie, only she did not sing, “By-low Bump- 
kins;” instead she smoothed the rumpled brown braid 
and straightened the wrinkles out of Marjorie’s best 
hair ribbons. 

“Never mind, dearie! Never mind! There’ll be 
some way. We’ll ask Ebenezer.” She seemed to feel 
so sure Ebenezer would know a way, that Marjorie 
felt comforted in spite of herself. 

He came in presently with a pail of purple plums 
and sat in the chintz rocker while Aunt Mandy told 
him all about it. He was a big good-natured man 


THE GOLDEN CALF 


333 


with catsup-colored whiskers. He seemed to fill the 
simple little kitchen. He certainly did fill the chintz 
rocker to overflowing. He was smiling when he came 
in and he kept right on through the whole narrative, 
such a comfortable assuring smile that Marjorie did 
not wonder Aunt Mandy had perfect confidence in 
him. He crossed and uncrossed his big boots while 
he listened and rubbed a finger reflectively over his 
bald spot. 

When it was through he tiptoed across to look at 
the sleeping baby, ejaculating “Well, well!” at reg- 
ular intervals. Marjorie forgot to be serious and 
giggled outright to see him going. He was so big 
and clumsy and his boots were such a trial to him. 
“Well, well!” he said again, as he stooped to examine 
the baby's little foot that had kicked out from under 
the cover. He touched it with a big finger as though 
he half doubted its being a real flesh and blood baby. 
“Got left ofif by No. 6\ Well, well!" After sitting 
for a while with his elbows on his knees and his head 
in his hands he thought it all out as Aunt Mandy 
said he would. 

“Why just as soon as they miss you they'll inquire 
of everybody on the train of course, and they'll find 
where you got ofif, and then they'll telegraph the next 
train to stop and take you on, with direction as- to 
where you are going, and where to leave the baby. 

We’ll go down to the four-forty-five and you see if 

22 


334 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


the conductor don’t know all about it. Don’t you fret. 
Things’ll straighten out all right by and by.” 

“That’s what I told ’er. They most always do if 
we only give ’em time.” Aunt Mandy tied one of her 
own big checked aprons on Marjorie and put her in 
the big rocking-chair with a plate of plums. “Now 
rest easy and enjoy yourself,” she advised. “You 
don’t want to make yourself miserable for nothing. 
You’ve heard about the man that bumped his head on 
a rock? Anyhow Uncle Ebenezer and Aunt Mandy 
will take care of you both.” 

Indeed they both seemed equal to any emergency. 
Marjorie found herself taking hope in spite of her 
convictions. The plums were good — big, juicy fellows, 
covered with a silver frost that rubbed off when you 
touched them. They cut a watermelon, too, that had 
been in the spring and was crisp and cool. Uncle 
Ebenezer wrapped up some of the seeds in a brown 
paper for her to take home. She went to the spring 
house with Aunt Mandy and watched her work over 
butter and press out dear little patties with a sheaf 
of wheat on top. She had a drink of delicious cold 
milk, too, and a slice of Aunt Mandy’s curd cheese. 

Uncle Ebenezer took her to the barn to see the 
dozen pink pigs that weren’t a week old, and Aunt 
Mandy’s flock of thoroughbred Plymouth Rocks. 
They were all sizes, big, little, pinfeathery, and 
downy, and they flew in Uncle Ebenezer’s lap and on 


THE GOLDEN CALF 


335 


his head, even pecking at the spatters of milk on his 
big boots. He took her to the pasture bars to pet the 
Clyde colt and gave her a handful of bran for the dear 
little velvet-nosed bossie calf that wanted to kiss her 
hand. It was such a lovely fawney yellow, with soft 
brown eyes like a timid deer, and a dear little white 
star right in the middle of its forehead. 

“Oh, you lovely, lovely creature !” Marjorie hugged 
it rapturously. “You look as though you were carved 
of pure gold. Oh, what is her name?” she inquired 
eagerly. “It seems to me I should love to call her 
Golden. Don’t you think that would be appropriate? 
What do you call her ?” 

“Just Bossy. You see we’re raising her for veal,” 
Uncle Ebenezer explained awkwardly. 

“Oh!” A spasm passed over Marjorie’s face. 

“Yes, she’s extra good size. She’ll bring, say seven 
dollars in the market. She’s taking on flesh fast.” 
Marjorie stood up and looked with horrified eyes into 
Uncle Ebenezer’s placid countenance; and somehow 
it never looked the same to her after that. She felt 
the terrible sinking pain one must always feel when 
a cherished ideal crashes to earth. “Don’t you think 
she’s rather pretty to — to k-kill?” she faltered. 

“Oh, I don’t know! They’re all pretty.” Uncle 
Ebenezer looked at her thoughtfully. “She’s a pretty 
calf all right. There isn’t anything like the Jerseys 
to my notion.” 


336 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“She — she's so 1-little," Marjorie plead. 

“Six weeks old to-morrow. Yes, I 'lowed we could 
let the butcher have 'er, say about a week from Mon- 
day. She'll be prime then." A little soft nose touched 
Marjorie's hand appealingly. She fell on her knees 
beside it, all forgetful of the spongy ground, and 
threw her arms about the silky throat. 

“Darling! Darling!" she whispered in the dainty 
tufted ears. “Darling! Darling!" Away over in the 
field a cow bawled anxiously. 

“That’s her mother, old Moll," Uncle Ebenezer 
said. “She's a good cow. She has fine calves. She's 
brought me in a good bit of money. Beef is away up." 
He rested his foot on the second rail, and jingled a 
few coins in his pocket meditatively. For a moment 
Marjorie knelt helplessly, her face pressed close to the 
little panting side, then she rose with flashing eyes. 

“It — it seems to me if a cow is good and — and gives 
milk — •" she hesitated for words. It was such a very 
serious moment. “ — she ought to be allowed to keep 
her children. It — it must be terrible to see them 
dragged off to the butchers. Oh, it is! It's the 
terriblest thing in the world." Her eyes were danger- 
ously bright, and a red spot flamed up in either cheek. 

“You needn't tell me they don’t feel ; they do. Their 
hearts break. Didn't you hear her just now? Her 
bawl said just as plain as could be, ‘Oh, what are you 
going to do with my baby?' If you heard it, if you 


THE GOLDEN CALL 


337 


knew — Oh, how can you go on ? How can you !” She 
went and stood close to Uncle Ebenezer, her hands 
clenched into a passionate knot, the calf clinging to 
her side. "If I was mean enough to do such a thing 
I could never look the poor mother in the face again, 
never ! Do you think Ed have drunk a drop of that 
milk if Ed known? Ed have starved first.” The two 
tears that had been gathering rolled slowly down and 
fell. Marjorie laid a hand warm with promises on the 
golden head. She might fail, but she would try. 

"Think how you’d feel if it was your only child!” 
she insisted. "It isn’t any laughing matter to be made 
into steak and roast and — and sausage, I should say it 
was rather — serious.” 

"It has to be done,” Uncle Ebenezer defended. 
"When disagreeable things have to be done we don’t 
think of them any more than we have to.” 

■"That’s just it, you simply don’t dare to think of 
it. Your conscience wouldn’t let you do it, if you 
did, any more than it would me. It’s just because 
you shut your eyes to the awfulness of it that you 
can do it at all. After you’ve murdered her and 
named her a whole lot of things that she isn’t, then 
people will buy her. Do you suppose if people really 
knew what she was — if they had to go in and ask 
for a piece of old Moll’s only child for instance—? 
Oh, when you know how awful it is how can you, 
can you do it?” 


33 § 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Well, what -would you do with them now?” Uncle 
Ebenezer crossed his blue shirt sleeves meditatively. 
“Let’s hear your views.” Marjorie’s vehemence 
interested him. “There’s Roxy’s calf and Calico’s 
calf and old Moll’s. If I raised ’em that would be 
three more cows. I couldn’t milk six cows, I’d have 
to hire a man. Next year there’d be six more, that 
would make twelve. That’s a little too much stock 
for forty acres; what do you think? It takes a slather 
of stuff to feed twelve head. They’d be eatin’ us out 
of house and home.” Marjorie looked troubled. 

“It seems as though the world is big enough,” she 
said helplessly. “Everything ought to have enough 
to eat; I don’t know just how. There must be a way. 
It don’t seem as though God would make more things 
than could live on earth, does it? And it don’t seem 
as though He would make things to feel and suffer 
and know, if it was right to kill them in cold blood. 
Oh, it’s wrong somewhere, I know it is. If such 
terrible things had to be done, why were things made 
to feel ? Uncle Ebenezer,” she persisted, laying a hot 
little hand 'in his palm. “Isn’t God good and doesn’t 
he say: 'Even the least of these?’ Oh, it isn’t right! 
It may have to be done; but it isn’t right. Do you 
suppose He made a mistake? Maybe He didn’t 
calculate right.” 

Uncle Ebenezer smiled softly to himself and grew 
serious by turns as he carried a few armfuls of bright 


THE GOLDEN CALF 


339 

oat chaff into the chicken coop for new nests. “Do 
you suppose God made a mistake !” 

When she was alone Marjorie sank down again 
and hugged and petted the golden calf. She ran her 
hands caressingly up and down the delicate limbs and 
patted the sleek sides. Her tears moistened the silken 
hair at the throat. She poured her sympathy into the 
dainty listening ears. Suddenly she stood up, her face 
growing bright with a new thought. Kissing a vow 
on the white star she went to find Uncle Ebenezer. 
He was shelling corn off in his hand to feed the 
setting hens. 

“How much does it cost to keep say, one calf a 
year ?” she questioned hopefully. Uncle Ebenezer took 
off his hat and ran his hand through his hair with 
slow deliberation. 

“Well, say for the fodder and throwin' in summer 
pasture, five dollars a head. That's a close figure.” 

“Five dollars — and one, two, three, four, say four 
years. Four times five is twenty.” She caught hold 
of Uncle Ebenezer's sleeve excitedly. “How much 
did you say she was worth for — for v-veal?” 

“Well, I counted on gettin' seven dollars for ’er if 
I keep her a week or such a matter,” Uncle Ebenezer 
replied doubtfully. 

“Twenty and seven is twenty-seven. Do you think 
you could trust me for four years, Uncle Ebenezer ?” 
Marjorie was desperately serious. ^ ou see I m 


340 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


thirteen. In four years I'll be seventeen and able to 
earn a great deal of money. I mean to be a partner 
with father, or perhaps I shall be a writer or an artist; 
but anyhow I shall have money, and if you'll only 
trust me, I'd like to buy her if you please." Uncle 
Ebenezer dropped the empty corncob and put his 
hands into his pockets. 

“Meanwhile what do you calculate to do with her?" 
he queried. 

“Why, I’ll leave her here, of course, at five dollars 
a year." Marjorie showed that her plans were not 
without foundation. “You set your own price, didn't 
you? Well, when I'm seventeen I can come and take 
her off your hands, can't I? You'll have all that 
money then — (twenty-seven dollars, and perhaps I'll 
pay you interest." Uncle Ebenezer took out his knife 
and sat down on a crate and began to whittle. 

“Uh-huh! Uh-huh!" he kept saying. “Got a busi- 
ness head on her all right. What did you say I was 
to do with the calves? You see in a couple of years 
there’ll likely be two of her." 

' “Oh!" Marjorie was overwhelmed. “So soon? 
W ell, if there is, you will please keep that too. I guess 
I shan't mind seven dollars more," she sighed heavily. 
She was getting in deep water. “You see I am going 
to commence thinking about the future very soon. Of 
course, while I am visiting the city I shan’t do much, 
but 'just as soon as I am home I shall plan my career. 


THE GOLDEN CALF 


34i 


Which do you think would be the most paying, to be 
an authoress or an artist, or go in business with 
father? It isn't a very large business though it's 
thriving. I guess that would be surest, don’t you? 
though I’m afraid Mr. Kimble will be disappointed if 
I’m not an authoress. I should hate to disappoint 
Mr. Kimble, he’s been very kind to me; but if I 
undertake two cows on top of all my other respon- 
sibilities I shall have to use a great deal of judgment, 
shan’t I? She seems to think a great deal of me 
now ; do you think she will have forgotten me entirely 
in the four years ?” 

“What’s the matter of coming once a year and sort 
o’ reminding her,” Uncle Ebenezer suggested. “See 
here! I’ll keep the calf for you all right, providing 
you agree to take her off my hands in four years and 
with one provision, that you come once a year to see 
Aunt Mandy and me and sort o’ round up your stock, 
you know.” He looked quizzically over his spectacles 
at the quaint little figure on the tool box. 

“Oh, I’d love to, but perhaps mother won’t let me. 
Will you put in a second provision, that if mother 
will let me?” 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to do that,” amended 
Uncle Ebenezer. “We have to mind our mothers.” 

“Yes, we do.” 

“And if you can’t come why we’ll excuse you; but 
you really ought to come once a year.” 


342 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


“Yes, I ought. It’s lovely here. I’m sure she’ll be 
desperately happy. Oh, who is that coming up the 
lane! It’s Uncle Alfred. Oh, it is! It is!” She ran 
and threw herself into his arms excitedly. Sure 
enough it was. He had gotten off at the first station 
after he had missed her and caught the return 
express. They were going to take the four-forty-five 
back and little Freddie was to be put off at Simpson- 
ville where an anxious mamma would be awaiting 
him with outstretched arms. Marjorie drew a long 
breath of relief. Already things had straightened 
themselves out. 


CHAPTER XXI 


CITY EXPERIENCE AND GETTING HOME 

“I don’t want to live where I get so hard and wicked I can’t 
feel. I’d rather live in the big wide places where ‘not even a 
sparrow falleth’.” 

“Let’s see! where did I begin?” Marjorie flipped 
the pages of her diary eagerly. She had not removed 
her hat. It stili hung to her neck by its rubber band. 
The contents of the dog-eared and travel-stained tele- 
scope lay scattered over the sitting room carpet — the 
dear little pig smoking set for father and the lovely 
lilac cream pitcher with its handle broken off that 
she had bought the very first day in the city, and 
that had been done and undone so many times it had 
come to grief. She had bundled out all the clothes, 
and the bottle of ammonia that wouldn’t take out 
spots, and the box of headache powders Uncle Alfred 
had gone to the drug store in the middle of the night 
to get because it might be good for “lump in the 
throat.” From the very bottom she had fished out 
her thumb-marked diary because it would help her 
to tell about things. 

“Aug. 20,” she read, “the city is a terrible place.” 
That was the beginning,— her first glimpse as she 
and Uncle Alfred stepped out of the cheerful car into 


343 


344 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


the great gray train sheds full of belching, noisy 
engines and waiting cars. Truckmen shoving heavy 
burdens and bellowing to clear the road. Anxious 
people hurrying along the platforms, loaded with 
valises and bundles. Children crying in the jam, 
being walked along to the utmost capacity of tiny 
untried legs. The crowd had gathered and thickened 
about them from the emptying train, till she was 
entirely hemmed in and almost lost. All in the world 
she could see were bodies jamming and crowding one 
another about, and there was nothing to do but step 
right along or be trodden under foot. A burly man 
with a red face and a straw hat on the back of his 
head had jostled right into her without ever apolo- 
gizing, and a fat lady with a bird cage and a poodle 
dog under her arm stumbled into Uncle Alfred and 
made him lose his cane, and all because the fat woman 
was afraid she wouldn't get there first. 

“There seems to be very little time in the city," she 
wrote in her entry. “People seem to be in a terrible 
hurry to go somewhere and haven’t but a minute to 
do it in. They are always going and yet they never 
go. They stay right there for all I can see, jamming 
and fighting one another about. Even the birds have 
caught it ; they quarrel and peck one another about in 
the streets and never sing. They seem to be afraid 
to commence to sing for fear some one will get some- 
thing away they ought to have had. City birds are 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


345 


very much like city people. When God said: ‘Not 
even a sparrow falleth,’ I’m sure there couldn’t have 
been any cities, for no one seems to care at all what 
becomes of any one else, and I don’t see how God 
can, there are so many.” She ran her finger along 
meditatively. 

“Got to the city at six o’clock. The depot is a 
monstrous place, bigger than our schoolhouse, and the 
library, and theatre all boiled down, and more impos- 
ing. I am sure I shall never feel awe again in my life 
for I’ve felt all there is of it. We went up forty-seven 
steps to even get there. I counted them, and as many 
more to get out. It seems very foolish to go up steps 
to get in as long as we only go in to get out. I saw 
several soldiers, at least I think they were. They wore 
blue uniforms and caps and appeared very stately. I 
don’t think there is anything in the world so impres- 
sive as blue clothes and brass buttons. If I ever marry 
I hope I shall be fortunate enough to get a soldier or 
a policeman. I think they are the impos ingest sort 
of people. 

“All along the curb there were cabs and cabmen 
prancing up and down, and some of them even laid 
hands on Uncle Alfred. It is very embarrassing to 
be obliged to say ‘no’ to so many people, though Uncle 
Alfred says it doesn’t matter if you don’t in the city. 
People do not pretend to be polite. I haven’t had any 
use for my manners at all since I came. I’m afraid 


346 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


if I tried to do as the 'Etiquette’ book mother gave 
Jane and me for Christmas says, there wouldn’t be 
enough left of me for Uncle Alfred to carry off in 
the ambulance. I have a very sore toe already as 
convincing evidence of this fact. It makes one feel 
very small and stingy to walk with so many terribly 
needy cabmen fairly begging one to ride, but after 
seeing what I have seen I am sure henceforth I can 
walk right on through them with a very ignoring 
attitude. 

"Horses without tails! Think of it! At first I 
thought they grew that way, but Uncle Alfred said 
no, they were docked. That means cut off. Those 
horrible cabmen cut off their horses’ tails. Do you 
suppose I would ride after a horse with his tail cut 
off if I walked forever and forever ? And that is only 
one of the terrible things one sees in the city. The 
city seems to be the gathering place of all the terrible 
things there are. We hadn’t gone a block before we 
were waylaid by a beggar and three newsboys. One 
of them wasn’t bigger than Dewey Mugg, not a mite. 
He caught hold of Uncle Alfred’s coat tail and hung 
right on. Uncle Alfred gave the beggar a dime and 
I gave the boy my sack of cracker jack. You ought to 
have seen him grin. He didn’t smile. People don’t 
smile in the city. If they have to do anything they 
grin. Their faces seem too stiff to smile. I don’t 
know which is the worst — a little baby for a newsboy 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


347 


or docking horses’ tails.” She stopped to give Mother 
Moxie’s knee an impetuous squeeze before she turned 
a fresh page. 

“The first thing on our minds, of course, was some- 
thing to eat,” the diary ran. “We passed a great 
many restaurants before we tried one. They seemed 
very imposing from the outside, but they are not very 
satisfying. The glitter soon rubs off when you are 
on the inside. I am afraid I shall starve if I have to 
eat in one a week. Everything is so mussy and 
so slammed at one. They act as though they be- 
grudged you time to eat in, to say nothing of what 
you ate. Such little measly bits of everything. The 
bills of fare I find are very deceiving, the most there 
is of them are names. I pine for one of mother’s 
good fat turnovers. Perhaps I shan’t stand so in 
awe of them the next time I go in and shall eat more, 
though it is terrible to have a waiter, full seven feet 
tall and starched so stiff he cannot sit, standing right 
over you and marking down every little thing you 
eat. I suppose when I learn to despise him in spite 
of his starch, as he probably deserves, I shall eat 
right along and never mind (Uncle Alfred did), 
though there’s no telling what the consequences would 
be. They’d probably be something appalling. I’d 
like to know how much it would cost to eat all one 
wanted just once. A body don’t know how to ap- 
preciate all the good things when they get them for 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


348 

nothing. Just think! Three little stingy slices of 
tomato for five cents. Not enough for a smell. And 
some little slivers off a cucumber, nothing but shav- 
ings, really, and five cents, too. I shudder to think 
how much Uncle Alfred paid for just our supper, and 
I’m ashamed to say I’m hungry yet. I think I shall 
be able to even appreciate Jane’s experiments if I ever 
get home alive.” She took a vicious bite out of the 
yellow harvest apple Dick had provided by way of 
refreshment. 

'‘The place where we are stopping is called the 
‘Home Hotel,’ ” she read on. “It is a very solemn 
place. I find that solemn doesn’t mean quiet. This 
place is very noisy, still it is solemn. If solemn meant 
quiet there couldn’t be anything solemn in the city, 
for it is impossible to even distinguish the different 
kinds of noise. It is trucks and street cars and news- 
boys and people’s feet and the Dago man on the corner, 
all jumbled into one. I have a piece of cotton packed 
in each ear while I am trying to write this. When I 
stop to think of all the halls I came through to get to 
this place I feel as though I were at the end of a 
Chinese puzzle. I am sure I could never find my way 
out alone. W e turned as many as a dozen corners at 
least and every one was exactly like the other. Sup- 
posing there should be a fire! It is a great comfort 
to think that Uncle Alfred rooms just across the hall. 

“The streets are lighted. I can see them from my 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


349 


window ; great dazzling red and blue and green globes, 
that look like stars come down into the street. I can 
see a great row of them that spells out a word, and 
now they are blue and now they are red and now they 
are white. The city is much prettier in the night than 
in the daytime, because one can’t see the smoke that 
gets all over one and blurs things, and one can have 
the lights that man made. Then, in the daytime one 
sees all the stains and there isn’t anything to take 
the place of the things God made and one can’t have 
in the city. 

“Speaking of smoke, I am terribly mussed up 
already. I never saw anything as filthy as my face 
and hands were when I got to this place. I’m afraid 
mother will be shocked at sight of my new suspender 
dress. It certainly does look fierce; but it cannot be 
helped as I see. Between Frederick Abijah Moses 
and the train smoke and coming to the city and every- 
thing it has had a hard racket.. I’m very glad I didn’t 
wear my slippers ; as long as I keep them in the band- 
box they will be a comfort to me. 

“People keep passing my door every minute, then 
sometimes they don’t, and it is terribly solemn. 
There’s a dog howling somewhere. I feel as though 
it was a bad sign. I imagine mother is setting the 
cakes about now, and Jane is brushing her hair for 
bed. Fm not sleepy. I — ” She skipped several lines 
guiltily. She couldn’t help putting in a few words 

23 


350 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


about its being the first night, etc. She wasn’t home- 
sick just the same. Even Uncle Alfred said she had 
been a brave little woman. And she wouldn’t have 
been home yet if Uncle Alfred hadn’t gotten the rheu- 
matism. She didn’t know as missing mother’s good- 
night kiss was anything to be ashamed of anyhow. 
She turned a fresh page. 

“Aug. 21,” it read. “So much has happened I 
hardly know where to begin. In the first place, isn’t 
the elevator a funny invention? I know a merry-go- 
round and even a Ferris wheel is faded for me from 
now on. I have gone up and down six times and it is 
just as new as ever. I don’t mind it so much going 
up, but coming down it feels as -though all the screws 
had fallen out that holds my stomach up. I wonder 
if it makes every one feel as it does me? Uncle Alfred 
don’t seem to mind it ; but looks peaceful all the way 
down while it is all I can do to keep from doubling up. 
And the worst of it is I can’t tell for the life of me 
whether it makes me miserable or happy. Anyhow 
I like to do it, I’d stay right there and ride all day if I 
could. Only I’m afraid sometime I’ll make a noise 
and disgrace Uncle Alfred. 

“Well, I have spent all my money and I suppose I 
ought to be satisfied, though I wish I hadn’t, for I’ve 
seen so many perfectly beautiful things since. Isn’t 
it a trial to pass by hundreds and hundreds of things 
you just want and not have a cent to bless yourself 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


35i 

with? I’m sure I have had a lesson in denying 
myself. 

“Oh, mother !” She laid her head over in Mother 
Moxie’s lap. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have 
had a lovely owl vase with beautiful sheeny gray 
feathers, and great golden eyes, and the flowers went 
right in the top of his head ? Wouldn’t that have been 
nicer than a lilac pitcher ? And are you sure you can 
fix the handle just as good as new? I could have got 
a lovely pillow top for Jane with the dearest little 
cupids’ heads painted all over it instead of this lace 
collar, too,” she mused regretfully. 

“Do you s’pose father will like this?” She turned 
the smoking set round and round on her palm. “I 
thought those little pink pigs were the sweetest things 
when I saw them ; but afterwards I saw some of the 
cunningest little rabbits. Their little white fuzzy 
tails were so pretty. I really believe father would 
have liked the bunnies best, though these little pigtails 
have got a cute quirk to them, haven’t they? And 
that little old trough to scratch ashes in is a dear, and 
the wooden bucket for matches, and the barrel to hold 
his tobacco. I paid twenty-five cents for it,” she said 
remorsefully. “I could have had a lovely silver match 
safe to have carried in his pocket for that, or a pretty 
pearl-handled paper knife to have laid on his desk. 
Which do you think he would rather have had? 

“Now, don’t lie, Dick! Do you like what I got you 


35 ^ 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


or would you rather have had the funniest, funniest 
mask for Halloween, or a dear little buttonhole 
bouquet that when you pinch it from in under squirts 
perfume right in somebody’s face? I could have got 
that or the comicalist Jack-in-the-box, that when you 
touched a spring, went clear to the ceiling. Are you 
sure you care for that little poky old knife, that after 
all hasn’t got anything in it but just a mess of cork- 
screws and one thing another? I thought I did at 
first; but I’ve seen so many things — ” She sighed. 

“Oh, I’m so glad, glad, glad to be home!” She 
patted the checks in Mother Moxie’s gingham apron. 
“Isn’t it big and comfortable and roomy?” She swept 
her arm out with a broad gesture of freedom. “It’s 
so nice to be able to hear one’s self think.” 

“It hadn’t ought to have been so very bad. You 
only stayed three days and you were going to stay a 
week, you know?” Jane twitted. 

“Thought you weren’t going to be homesick!” Dick 
gave her a sly poke. “If I couldn’t tough it out more’n 
three days. Whatever brought you home if you 
weren’t homesick?” 

“I told you once I was sick,” Marjorie defended 
herself, “ — and so was Uncle Alfred. He had the 
rheumatism, and I — I had a headache and a funny 
feeling. I couldn’t describe it. It seemed in my lungs 
at first, but it got up into my throat. ‘Lump in the 
throat,’ Uncle Alfred called it. It felt like a hickory 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


353 


nut. It didn’t bother me much daytimes, only nights. 
You see, I roomed alone, and sometimes when I went 
to bed it seemed as though I should — choke.” She 
slipped a hand shyly into Mother Moxie’s. “Uncle 
Alfred thought as we both had symptoms, we might 
better be at home. We might be coming down with 
something, you know!” 

“Let me look down your throat, dear!” Mother 
Moxie suggested anxiously. “Are there any lumps? 
Is it very sore?” 

“It seems to be all right now,” Marjorie confessed. 
“I think I felt the last twinge when I saw you and 
Dick and Jane running to meet me. Oh, I wonder if 
it is as cool and comfortable and lovely anywhere in 
the world as it is here !” 

“I saw a great goose,” she read from her diary. 
“It was in a tailor shop window and kept nodding its 
head. I thought it was real, but Uncle Alfred said it 
was a sign. I also saw an elephant that did the same 
thing, only it kept rolling its eyes and every little 
while it picked up a piece of candy with its trunk. 
This seemed a very natural act. I stood in the win- 
dow watching it while Uncle Alfred went to get a 
cigar. Lt seems very wonderful that they can make 
signs like that. I suppose when he gets full of candy 
they empty him out. It must be lovely to be able to 
eat all the time and never get full. Fm afraid I would 
roll my eyes worse than that if I did. I also saw a 


354 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


window of dolls, great, big mamma dolls, as big as I 
am, and children dolls of all sizes. One of them was 
rocking her little baby to sleep, and a party of little 
girl dolls was having tea. One was playing the piano, 
and a boy and girl doll were waltzing. In one window 
a woman with a sunbonnet on was churning and a 
man out in the field was cradling wheat. I would like 
to know how they made the wheat stand up. 

“I don’t know but the city is as wonderful as it is 
terrible. The two principal feelings I have had since 
I came are horrified and amazed. I certainly am 
amazed over some of the things I have seen to-day, 
for now I am going to put something in this book that 
compared with it nothing else I shall ever put in this 
or any other will seem like anything. I have been to 
the theatre. The very biggest one in the city, Uncle 
Alfred said it was. It is now twelve o’clock and I 
am not sleepy at all, and I don’t think I ever shall 
be again. 

“The elevator is one sort of a sensation, and being 
glad or sad or cold or hungry is just one; but the the- 
atre is all sorts mixed together, anyhow they follow 
one another so fast that the laugh gets right into the 
cry. My face ached when I got home from being 
changed so many times. I have been oh! so sorry, 
and so glad, glad, glad, and have had cold shivers 
ever and ever so many' times! I actually believe my 
hair has stood up at last, though I didn’t have time 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


355 


to see till it was over. Think of a horrible man chain- 
ing you hand and foot and dragging you off by the 
hair, and little Fi-fi stolen by that horrible old woman 
and made to beg! Wasn't she sweet and dear, and 
wasn't it enough to bring tears from a stone, say! to 
see her standing out in the snow and sleet with 
nothing on but rags and crying for her own lost 
mamma! Wasn't it blood curdling when those two 
men met in the woods and fought a duel ? And I was 
so afraid the hero would be killed instead of the 
villain, and then what would become of the beautiful 
heroine chained in the castle and kept on bread and 
water! And when those officers came to the fisher- 
man's cabin, and brave little Doris shielded Howard 
Wright, and helped him to escape by rowing him 
across the channel in that terrible storm! My! how 
high and white the breakers were, and how the sea 
roared! I was afraid the boat would be swamped 
every minute. How green and angry the storm 
looked, and how the lightning flashed! Wasn't that 
enough to make one's hair prickly? — And then when 
Howard Wright crept upon those robbers in the cave 
and listened to all their evil plots, even slying in and 
snatching the valuable papers that proved little Fi-fi' s 
birthright and restored her to her parents! I feel 
as though I had been every one of them and lived 
every one of their lives. 

“Isn't the theatre a wonderful thing when one can 


356 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


live a whole lifetime every night and suffer and be 
glad, and be defeated and victorious? No matter how 
plain a body's life really is, with nothing at all inter- 
esting happening, here they can live in the most 
exciting scenes, and be really great and noble and do 
brave deeds. And I've thought of several ways in 
which the theatre is a real benefit. I’m going to prove 
it to Grandma Grubbins when I go home. In the first 
place it shows one how really useless crime is after 
all, and how the villain always gets the worst of it in 
the end. There it is just as plain as the nose on your 
face without experimenting. Carter Chase, who was 
a villain and just as wicked as he could be, got hung, 
and lost every friend he had in the world, and didn’t 
even have a funeral; and Howard Wright got all the 
money in the hidden zinc box and married the beau- 
tiful heroine besides. 

“When one is living things it goes so slow that one 
can’t get the effect, and sometimes it doesn’t seem 
worth while to be kept in horrible places on bread and 
water and dragged through all sorts of wretched 
things for the sake of being a heroine, but on the 
stage one sees and one can’t help pitying the poor 
villain, if he does wear the most diamonds, because 
you can see all along the trap he’s getting himself 
into. The good ones all come out on top. Didn’t 
sweet little Fi-fi get back to her lovely home on the 
Rhine., and have a maid to curl her beautiful hair in 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


35 7 


the last act ? And didn’t brave Doris get her hand- 
some sailor lad out of the jaws of the sea? And didn’t 
poor, sweet Lady Graymere get Howard Wright, 
and all that was coming to her, and come out just as 
blooming as a rose before the curtain fell, even if 
she was beaten and starved and about dead of a 
broken heart? 

“When a body sees how many lifetimes they could 
live through if they went to the theatre every night, 
how many tragedies they could suffer through with- 
out dying, just living one doesn’t seem like much of a 
task. Why, after knowing what that poor lady suf- 
fered chained in that terrible fashion, do you suppose 
that anything that could ever happen to me would 
seem like anything at all? Seeing people who are 
brave or patient or good, even on the stage, ought to 
help some, hadn’t it? Wouldn’t it be nice if a person 
could be as sweet as Fi-fi, as brave as Doris, as 
patient as Lady Graymere, and as noble as Howard 
Wright? Would that be too much to have all in one? 

“If I lived in the city I should spend a great deal of 
money going to the theatres for the development of 
my character. The church and the theatre are very 
much the same ; one illustrates what the other teaches. 
I am going to stop now and draw a picture of the 
villain and dear little Fi-fi and the horrible old woman 
to show to mother. 

“Aug. 22. I wonder what will take out wagon 


358 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


grease ! Something sad and terrible has befallen me. 
I’m sure mother will be sadly shocked and father 
horrified. I’ve had a fight. I clawed and dug a man. 
I hoped I should not be called upon to exhibit my 
talents in that direction, but it seems I have been. 
Uncle Alfred upheld me in it, though very mildly. 
It was over a horse, a poor dilapidated creature, beside 
which old Dobbins is a frisky steed prancing and 
dancing along the highway. He had high cheek 
bones behind. 

“Let me say before I begin to write down how it 
happened that I am glad for every lick I got in and 
only wish I could double them. I never knew that it 
would be real comfort to hit anybody before, but I 
find out that it sometimes is. With every cut I gave 
I felt joy looming up inside of me. Perhaps here- 
after I shall try it oftener. 

“We were just hurrying to catch a car and there he 
was in the alley, hitched to an ugly black wagon, 
loaded with coal. He was just doubling up wjth 
misery till his skin wrinkled and his master was beat- 
ing him with a monstrous club. I didn’t wait for any 
introduction, I can tell you that. There are some 
things I will never stand by and see, and I have found 
out one thing, I can put up quite a fight if it is neces- 
sary. It may not be very ladylike, but it is very 
considerate, especially of the horse. 

“I ran at the man and we had it right and left. 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


359 


He didn't dare to strike me and I didn't let him strike 
the horse. I — I called him names — a — a ‘miserable 
old pelter' I think was the worst, but he was ferocious 
and swore something furious. I think it is ridiculous 
to let one's temper get away with one. 

“We called quite a crowd, I can tell you, and by and 
by Uncle Alfred came up and a policeman with a big 
club. You ought to have seen the man sober down. 
He didn't swear any more, though he almost choked 
trying to stop it. The policeman unhitched the horse 
from the heavy coal wagon and led him away just as 
cool as a cucumber on ice, while the man just stood 
and shook his fist, growing blacker every minute with 
things he didn't dare to say. I never saw any one so 
mad before in all my life. Uncle Alfred led me away 
rejoicing. I note here for Jane's benefit that this is 
one instance where my interference was very effect- 
ual, indeed — one horse liberated, one coal driver 
punished, one policeman busy. I call that a pretty 
good stroke. It seems to me I have heard that 
ammonia will take out wagon grease. Uncle Alfred 
is going to get some in the morning. 

“Every day I see terrible things that I can't forget 
— horses beaten, pitiful beggars crawling on the walk, 
tired little children who can't smile. I wonder if I 
should live here a very, very long time I would get 
so I didn't mind? No one else seems to mind. They 
walk right through it and never seem to see. Maybe 


360 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


seeing so much of it and not being able to help it 
would cure one, but it seems to me it would only make 
it worse. I should keep feeling and feeling till it got 
so big in here I should have to do something or burst. 
I don't want to live where I get so hard and wicked 
I can't feel. I’d rather live in the big wide places 
where ‘not even a sparrow falleth'. 

“We went to the park in the afternoon and saw 
the animals, and somehow they looked ever so much 
more natural than the people. The big old lion with 
his paws folded before the bars was the most sym- 
pathetic and natural-looking person I’ve seen since I 
came. I had quite a visit with him and he seemed to 
understand. The grass looked good. What can take 
the place of grass and sky? There were signs to keep 
off; but Uncle Alfred and I didn't. We sat, and I 
rolled once or twice when no one was looking; but 
Uncle Alfred didn't. Perhaps he isn't as used to roll- 
ing in grass as I am. I tell you it did seem good. 
It was real grass, too. It seemed good to find some- 
thing that was real after so much make-believe. They 
were real animals too, with real howls. I heard a 
wolf howl twice. It certainly did give me a creepy 
feeling. 

“We sat and watched the swans, and ducks and 
geese and things sailing around on the little ponds. 
They seemed to be enjoying themselves the best of 
anything. It was a relief to me to find something that 


CITY EXPERIENCE 


361 


wasn’t miserable. I wanted to forget the dear little 
robin I had seen among the captive birds. I didn’t 
mind looking at the parrots or the pheasants or the 
lovely golden finches; but when we came to the lark 
of the morning all humped up in a pitiful little heap, 
and the precious brown thrush looking so sad, and 
our own little robin I coaxed Uncle Alfred to come 
away. I didn’t want to look any longer. Do you 
know what the man said? I asked him if the poor 
little thing wasn’t sick, and if he hadn’t better do 
something for him, and he said: ‘Oh, no! They 
always die. They won’t stand caging, but they’re 
plentiful. #We always can put in another.’ Think of 
it ! Always a robin dying in there of a broken heart. 
I should think that would spoil the pleasure of it for 
any one. I asked him why he didn’t let it out before 
it died, when it was only ill, and he knew it was going 
to, and let it grow well and happy again and forget 
how cruel people were; but he never answered me. 
I asked him why they needed to have a robin. Weren’t 
the birds for the people to see, and couldn’t they see 
hundreds of happy ones hopping about in the grass 
outside? And who wanted to see a dying robin? 
And weren’t the dear little squirrels, that ran all over 
the park and were so tame they ate nuts right out of 
your hand, a thousand times prettier than the wild- 
eyed little thing that hid in the farthest corner of the 
cage and wouldn’t come out for anybody? But he 


362 


MARJORIE MOXIE 


walked right away and never even pretended to hear, 
though I caught hold of his sleeve and tried to stop 
him. 

“I did enjoy seeing the tiny ponies and Uncle Alfred 
let me ride on one. He jogged along so slow and easy 
and looked so very fat. How I do love to see things 
comfortable! If I ever get to be very, very rich, I 
shall buy the Zoo and set the animals free; I believe 
I will take about as much comfort with my money 
that way as any other. 

“I do hope Jane has seen to feeding the poor mamma 
wren who lost her husband. I am not feeling very 
well to-night. I have the headache and blistered feet, 
and a terribly strange feeling. Uncle Alfred got some 
powders, but they don’t seem to be very effective. I 
believe I’ll go in and let him rub my head.” The 
entries came to an end abruptly. Marjorie tossed the 
diary into the heap and climbed out over the wreck. 

“Well, anyhow, I’m thankful I’m better,” she said 
encouragingly. “I believe if I have a good square 
meal now I shall be all right and able to write up my 
experiences for the Northrum Weekly Courier.” 




c 30 U 88 






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